Table for Two
Rowan turns into an underground parking garage serving a cluster of upscale clubs in Nashville’s swanky club row.
Grateful they’d managed to get here with no major catastrophe occurring—aside from that close call with a courier van—because Luca’s mouth was hot and wet and there wasn’t any leftover blood for his higher brain functions.
It’s only when Luca’s soft, rhythmic hum and a quiet slurp fill the silence that the reason becomes crystal clear—this valet knows better than to interrupt exactly this kind of moment.
People might begin to play at home or in their vehicles, and the attendants are well-trained to play their part when—and if—they’re asked.
“Luc? Baby, what do I do now? Is there like a honk code or a secret signal?”
Luca snorts, and the sensation on Rowan’s dick sends a tingle to his toes. Pulling off for a moment, he looks up at Rowan through his lashes. “Do you want them to see?”
Fuck yes, he does, but maybe not Luca’s upturned ass, because that is his, or at least right now it is. “You sucking my dick, yes, but not your pretty ass. The Wolf doesn’t like that at all.” Rowan sees flashes of torn limbs littering the quiet parking garage.
“Ohhh, Ro, you are such a romantic. Okay. Let me—” He pulls his butt down, resting it on his heels, and tucks his skirt back underneath before popping back up, yanking open the glove box, and pulling out a black Ziploc bag and hand wipes.
“Oops, don’t want to take this inside.” Reaching underneath himself, he yanks out the big plug with an in drawn breath before dropping it into the bag and wiping his hands.
He throws everything back in the glove box with a grin. “Jaybird is always so prepared.”
Fuck Jay for being so perfect. Of course, that begs the question about how often Jay is dealing with plugged-up Luca in the Genesis. Or Nix, or maybe even Leo. What has he missed as the Wolf these past few weeks?
“Okay, now, flash your high beams twice for just your door, or three times for both.”
“Okay, baby, back at it. Then I’ll come around for you.” It strikes him suddenly that he should have asked way before this. “Safe word?”
“Taxidermy,” he says with a proud smile. “And you?”
“Meatloaf.” Which is a weird choice, given there isn’t anything Rowan wouldn’t do for love—like, zero.
“Okay. Let’s do it.” He winks and takes Rowan’s cock as deep as he can until he gags. Luca gives the best head—hot and wet, with the perfect rhythm and pressure.
With a shaking hand, Rowan flashes the high beams twice, and the valet attendant springs into motion, opening the driver’s side door. “Good Afternoon, sir. Welcome to The Diner ‘69er.”
He only addresses Rowan, but he doesn’t keep his eyes to himself. He’s professional, but he’s playing his part, and he watches Luca take Rowan deep, pulling off and slapping the round head on his tongue—putting on a show, like the consummate performer he is.
“Such a good girl, Luc,” Rowan says. “But we should go in so can feed you.”
Luca shakes his head no.
Pushing down hard on the back of his mate’s head so Rowan can enjoy feeling him gag around the intrusion, he cajoles, “Come on, baby. I’m sure they have cheesecake. Let—” He looks up at the valet’s name tag, “Cameron do his job.”
“Don’t hurry on my account, sir.” Cameron smiles, eyes riveted on Luca’s red lips stretched around Rowan’s impressive girth. This really must be a great job. Out of curiosity, Rowan just stops himself from checking to see if Cameron is hard in his black pants.
“Cheesecake?”
Finally. “Yes, let me carry you. Would you like that?”
“Yes, please.” He carefully tucks Rowan into his jeans and then sits carefully until Rowan climbs out and opens his door.
Luca drops into a crouch and tucks his hand up into the large hole in Rowan’s pant leg and pulls his hard cock down, so the head of it peeks out whenever the material moves a certain way.
With a final kiss to the head, he jumps into Rowan’s arms and wraps his legs around his waist. “Milkshake and cheesecake, please.”
“Thank Cameron, baby.” Rowan thrusts a big tip into the man’s hand with a nod.
“Thank you, Cameron.”
“My pleasure, miss.”
The words are met with a soft giggle in Rowan’s ear. “He’s so nice. I like it here.”
Rowan likes it, too. Once they’re inside the elevator, he lets the pleasure of anticipation—and of holding Luca close—build. When the doors open, they’re transported back in time to a family-style American diner.
It looks like a postcard from the 50s—bright red booths and chrome-trimmed tables, napkin dispensers, and what probably isn’t ketchup bottles neatly lined up within easy reach.
A soda fountain gleams behind the counter, where servers in short, crisp, light blue period-style uniforms glide by on roller skates with trays of burgers, fries, and shakes piled high with whipped cream.
The lighting is bright, and the hum of conversation (and moans) mixes with the low whir of the milkshake machine, and the clink of silverware on plates fills the air.
Scattered between the booths are a few tables with red-cushioned chairs, their metal legs scuffed but sturdy.
It’s wholesome on the surface—just a classic diner serving comfort food—but the doors discreetly tucked along the far wall hint at other rooms where the heavier play goes on.
It’s busier than Rowan expected. At least twenty couples or groups are eating or chatting in small clusters around the room.
A sliver of doubt skitters down Rowan’s spine.
These are strangers—which is the point, he knows that—but they’re unknowns and the Wolf does not like it one bit.
Good thing this isn’t about you, dumbass.
“Table for two, sir?” the hostess asks. She is wearing a sky-blue dress with a lacy handkerchief in her pocket that says Jo, and her hair is poufy on top, flipped up at the ends.
“Uh…Luc?”
There must be more to her question, because Luca hops down with a smile. “Please.”
“Certainly. Follow me.” Jo seats them at a small four-top table halfway between the door and the restroom, with chairs on one side and a banquette on the other.
The “window” is a long mirror reflecting the room, offering an incredible view.
Jo doesn’t stick around; she just places the menus on the table and slips away.
Holy shit. The spiced rum exceeds the low-level patch he’d worn for their outing, broadcasting Rowan’s anxiety.
Luca tilts his head, nods to the chair opposite him. “What’s up, Buttercup?”
What’s up!? They’re celebrities in a public place, and there are forty people about to see him fuck Luca over a table. The potential disaster has Rowan limp in his jeans—for once. “I’m sorry for fucking this up Luc. Honestly.”
“What? You’re doing great,” Luca says, a look of genuine confusion marring his face.
“But what if these people talk? We’re famous. This could ruin everything we’ve been working for.”
Luca clutches his hands under his chin. “Ro. You are the sweetest thing. Look, this club is safe. Think about it. Would Jaybird or Gideon put us at risk? It’s magically spelled.
No one here will remember who we are. Tech devices don’t work here, and if someone is immune, like Nix would be—which is why he’s not invited, by the way—then there are some serious consequences. ”
“Oh.” Relief floods his system and he falls back against his chair.
“Yeah. It’s safe. We are safe. I’m sorry you were nervous about it. I should have told you before.”
There’s a surge of joy that he can have this with Luca, maybe with Gideon or Finn even, and still keep his mate safe. Their lives are safe. Even the Wolf settles a bit when he hears the words.
“You are such a good alpha. Gideon is going to hear about how good you’ve been.”
Rowan wishes that didn’t make the Wolf want to wag his tail. “Yeah, yeah. Now, can we get to the fun part, please? You ready?”
“Bring it.”
“Good. I’m going to sit beside you, and you are going to do exactly what I say.”
“Yes, please.”
Once they’re settled, with Rowan behind the table and Luca perched beside him, Jo returns to take their order: french fries, cheesecake, and a large vanilla milkshake with whipped cream.
While it might not be about the food, Rowan’s meltdown has left him hungry.
Waiting for the food gives him a moment to look beyond their bubble at the people—but not the things—they’ll soon forget when they leave.
The table closest to them has a stunning middle-aged woman nonchalantly dipping french fries into her milkshake while paging through a magazine. It’s Luca’s breathy squeak that has Rowan following his gaze to the other woman under the table, her face pressed between her partner’s legs.
There’s a commotion beyond them, as a large man lifts his partner onto his lap, soon bouncing the smaller man on his lap while the server behind maintains a conversation with both.
But it’s the opening of the door at the other end of the aisle that has Rowan—and Luca—riveted.
Beyond the threshold, on top of a dining table, is a beautiful, slim man covered in food.
The group of five or six men with him is pretending he’s not there as they eat meat and cheese from his skin.
The occasional person pauses in their conversation to suck his hard dick or bite at a nipple or slurp something sweet from his fingertips.
Rowan finds he can’t look away until the door swings shut.
“Holy fuck.”
“Yeah,” Luca whispers. “Do you think Nix would let us—” His voice cuts off when Rowan reaches him across the table and covers Luca’s mouth with his hand.
“Nope. Not right now. You want this to last beyond the first three seconds; there will be none of that.” Just imagining it sends a shudder through Rowan’s very core. Food and Nix are intertwined so deeply in his Wolf’s brain that there seems to be a live wire connected to his dick.
“Fuck, you are so right—but for the record, I need his slick on ice cream…oh, here comes our food.”