12. Arnaz
ARNAZ
“Only for a Night”
Spoils from life’s war, dare drink from my cup.
Sustenance for the night, poisonous by sunup.
“ P izzas and wings are here,” Cam, Nick’s girlfriend, announces, Nick trailing behind her with a half dozen boxes piled high in his arms. Sid walks over and takes the bags from Cam. “The salmon’s in that one,” she tells him.
He eats clean all season. Claims he’s less restrictive in the offseason, but I haven’t seen it.
The doorbell rings.
Swigging the last of my beer, I rub my palms against my stomach.
I hear Cillian’s voice first and then a husky laugh.
“You need help?” I ask Cam.
“I’m all done here.” She looks up with a soft smile. “Help yourself. Vegan cheese on those three.” She gestures to the pies.
“Thanks.” I throw my bottle into the recycling bin and grab a plate.
The pie with pepperoni and sausage has three slices left, the one with mushrooms and peppers has five, and the plain cheese has four.
I start to reach for the one with pepperoni when my fingers curl in.
Fix it. Make it even, or his plane will go down on the way home.
Clenching the plate, I grab a slice of pepperoni and raise it to my lips, but my tongue recoils, as if the pizza’s singed flesh.
Dropping the slice back onto my plate, I grab two slices of the mushroom and one cheese, then stare at the four slices.
I rearrange the three remaining in each box so they’re side by side, and my stomach relaxes.
The noise in the room kicks up as more of the Lions pour in.
There’s one voice I hear above all the others, throttling my chest with a category-four hurricane.
“Hey, can I grab a slice?”
I pass Johan my plate. “Here.” I turn, and the hurricane kicks up to a category five. In a merlot-colored linen shirt with the top buttons undone and the short sleeves rolled up, Salem perches on one end of the couch as he talks to Sid and Cillian.
The slight bulge in his black slim-fit pants has my grip tightening on the beer bottle.
How is he still single?
Johan snickers.
“What’s funny?”
He takes a large bite of a slice and walks away.
I look down at my black sweat suit and stifle a groan. All my internet stalking has revealed an undeniable fact—Salem’s tailors never miss.
Cillian nods as he approaches, then he loads his plate with wings, veggies, and dip.
I nod back.
“That hurt?” He gestures to my knuckle tattoo.
I shrug. “The good kinda pain.”
“This thing that’s happening…” He glances over at Salem. “You know the scent of almonds?”
“What?”
“Almonds. You know the scent?”
I tilt my head in a half nod.
“Hurt him”—he steps closer—“and it’ll be the last thing you smell.”
“What does that mean?”
“Fuck around and find out,” he throws over his shoulder as he starts to walk away.
I shake my head. “There’s nothing happening.”
“Yeah, okay,” he replies.
I squint at his back as a warm sound coats my skin—Salem’s laughter.
Telling myself it’s no big deal, I pull out my phone, find Salem in my contacts and start a text.
Me
Cillian just threatened me with almond cologne or something. TF? How’s your foot?
My hand hovers over send.
“Yo, who got next?” Wes calls out, holding up the game controller.
What am I doing? I backspace on my text.
When I look up, Salem’s on his feet, moving toward the kitchen.
“Me,” I answer, racing over and swapping spots with Wes on the couch.
“Thanks for coming,” Cam says as I’m on my fourth round of the game. My head cranks left, and I catch Salem’s wave goodbye. I hold my breath, as if all the fresh air is about to seep out the door.
“Bro?” Johan says. “You killed us.” He stabs the buttons on his controller. “One more rou?—?”
“I’m out.” I toss my controller and jump up.
I say bye to Cam, then throw up my middle finger at Nick a split second before he fires one at me.
I rip open the front door and freeze as Cillian’s and Salem’s heads twist my way.
Ignoring Cillian’s remember-our-talk smirk, I lock eyes with Salem before headlights have us glancing toward the black car slowing to a stop at the curb. He turns back to me.
My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“Ready?” he says to Cillian before turning and heading toward the car.
“Say something,” Cillian hisses in a whisper.
Shit.
My feet start moving and don’t stop until I’m sliding into the car next to him.
He raises an eyebrow.
The driver asks if we’re ready as Cillian calls out, “I’ll order another one.”
“Y-yes,” I croak to the driver.
Salem studies me before looking away.
We don’t speak.
The entire ride.
He stares out the window, stoic like a sculpted god with ridged cheekbones and a sexy, plump top lip. Vampire memory from our fight all those years ago has my jaw clenching with hunger to sink its teeth in.
What’s wrong with me?
I rip my gaze away and rub my palms on my pants.
I catch my reflection in the glass. I look terrified. I start fidgeting, but no matter how much I try, I can’t get my spine straight enough.
Why am I here?
I should open the door and make a run—or roll—for it.
Just keep on rolling right into the ocean like two-ply toilet paper.
Ain’t like I didn’t cop fresh material for another episode of “Late Night with Salem.”
“Thank you,” he says to the driver when we pull up to the hotel. The car’s barely at a stop before he’s out and the door’s closing.
The driver eyes me in the rearview mirror when I don’t move.
I start to reach for my wallet. “Can you take me bac?—”
My door opens, and I stare up into piercing eyes.
I move.
He nods thanks to the doorman as the doors are opened for him, then he leads us toward the elevators. I start to follow the couple waiting in front of us when the elevator arrives, but he extends his arm across my chest, holding me in place.
A second elevator arrives—this one empty—and I follow as he moves toward it.
I’m backed against the wall as soon as both my feet cross the threshold.
“You know what you’re doing?” he asks.
“What?” I rasp.
“Why are you here?” The scent of mint and vanilla fills my nostrils.
Unhurried and unscathed by my chaos, he waits.
“I don’t know.”
“No.” He reaches out and stops the door from closing. “I don’t buy it. You don’t strike me as someone who does things without knowing why.”
His lips are so close . He catches me staring at them and pulls back. The elevator door beeps, signaling it needs to close, but he ignores it.
“Tell me why you’re here,” he insists.
“I don’t date, but?—”
“Cool.” He nods toward the open elevator door. “Good night.”
“Can I finish?” My nails dig into my palm. “Dinner and movies…they’re not me. But…”
“So, you’re here to fuck?” He asks it like he’s asking if I’m in town for a concert.
My face burns as he waits for an answer.
I glare at him, then move toward the door, but he blocks me.
“It’s a fair question.”
“How?”
“I asked you out on a date, and you said no.”
“I don’t date.”
“You said you don’t like me.”
“I don’t.”
He reads something in my face that quirks the corners of his lips.
“What?” I ask, fighting the urge to cross my arms.
“You’ve been mad at me for five years…”
“I hate you.”
“Mm.” He leans in. “How much?”
I should walk away, but I’m locked in place by his scent.
His lips are close again .
I swallow roughly.
That bottom one…
He wets it, and my fists curl in.
“Show me how much, Blu?—”
He grunts as my teeth sink into his bottom lip, and my fingers dig into his back. My jaw tightens as I clamp down, and his moan makes my hands squeeze his waist to keep myself upright.
Fuck, that sound.
His tongue swipes across my teeth, making my eyes roll closed.
“Oh!” a woman shrieks. “W-we’ll take the next one.”
I release him as she scurries away.
He punches the elevator button, steps back, and leans against the opposite wall. Rubbing his thumb across his bruised lip, his eyes darken as they snake over my body.
“Come here,” I rasp.
He winks at me but doesn’t move.
When the elevator stops, we’re both off it before the doors fully open.
I couldn’t tell you what color the hallway walls are, the carpet, or the number for his room, but I could draw in painstaking detail the stretch of fabric across his traps, the deep groove along his spine, and the way his muscular ass shifts in his pants.
Flicking on a low light, he then places his key card, wallet, and phone down on the nightstand.
“I’m on PrEP,” he says, voice scratchy. “Up to date on my vaccines. Tested and cleared after my last partner.” He turns to me.
I tense, thinking about him and Lucien. “S-same,” I reply.
He nods. “Come.” He lowers to the bed and leans back. “Get what you came for.”
One night, I remind myself. And like every man before him, he’ll be out of my system.
One night.
Even if he’s worlds sexier than any man I’ve ever been with.
I push off the door and cross the room until I’m kneeling between his legs and unbuckling his belt.
I pause as he slides off my shades and track where he sets them down. He lifts his foot to help me remove his pants, and once I drag them down, I wrap my palm around his right heel.
“W-what”—I clear my throat—“did the trainers say?”
Removing his sock, I inspect his ankle.
“They said I’m good,” he answers.
I put gentle pressure on the side of his foot, curling it right and left while searching his face for any sign of discomfort.
His eyes darken as he blinks slowly.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” His voice comes out so low, I feel it trickling down my spine.
I lower his foot and then trace my fingers along the inner curve of his thigh. He tenses, tugging the skin along the band of muscle.
So thick. Mm.
I string my arms around his thighs and nuzzle my face between them, pulling them close to bracket the sides of my face.
As if sensing what I need, he tenses and presses his thighs together, drawing out a low moan from the warm, velvet pressure.
He lets up when I begin to move and rub the sides of my face along the skin there.
Turning my head, I peel his briefs to the side and lick the patch of skin in the crease of his groin.
He sucks in a breath as I suckle the skin.
He continues swelling underneathhis briefs as my teeth graze over his balls before continuing up his shaft. Despite swallowing, I leave a wet trail soaking the cotton. Head arched sideways, my mouth slots over him, and I moan from the feel of him lengthening under my tongue.
When my tongue reaches his head, it encounters something hard, and I trace over one, two, three…fuck…four metal heads.
He winks.
No, no, no.
He shifts up as I drag down his briefs.
I groan.
Life is cruel. Some fucker who subscribes to forever will wake up to his face and hum around this gorgeous uncut dick for the rest of his life.
My tongue circles his piercing, and another prickle of heat trickles down my lower back as he moans.
I lick the skin between his magic cross, submerging into the white noise rushing in my ears.
Locking on to his dark eyes, I suck his head into my mouth.
Even now, his demeanor is calm and contained, like he gets his dick sucked on demand whenever he calls for it.
Of course he does.
He shudders as my fingers dig into his thighs, and his head hits the back of my throat. I pull up, suckling him, then I lower again, humming from him filling my mouth and throat.
“Come here.” He cups the back of my neck.
I open for him, moaning at the pulse of electricity shooting down my spine as his mouth latches on to mine like he’s been kissing me all his life.
My arms tighten around his neck as our tongues move in rhythm.
Swaying, anchoring, claiming.
Claiming?
I rip my lips away. His eyes blink open, and their fierce need has our lips slotting back together.
I rub his erection, and the pull to feel him fill my mouth again has me circling his cock and pumping with long strokes. He grunts against my lips before sucking the bottom one raw. I thumb the pre-cum pooling at his slit, then suck it into my mouth.
He releases my lip to bite his own, and I sink down and lick the underside of his cock to his balls. He falls to his back as I suckle on one before licking across and working the next one into my mouth. I pump him slowly, relishing the shift of him in my mouth on every tug.
My new obsession gleams, and I lick back up his shaft, taking him into my mouth again until the metal hits the back of my throat.
I groan.
Every night…every time I watch him humiliate someone on the court, I’ll think of this fat, jeweled dick waiting to be worshipped.
“Fuck,” he rasps, peeling off my beanie and carding his hand through my curls.
I’ll think of crawling under his sheets as he sleeps and waking him with my tongue, sliding my lips around him until he’s filling my throat, his back arching, like it’s doing right now.
I gurgle, eyes watering.
When it’s wet with fresh sweat after the gym…
I bury my nose in the soft hair lining his base and inhale.
“Blue,” he rasps, fisting the sheets.
When he returns from a road game, back against the door, as my knees kiss the worn spot on the floor...
My thumb presses into his taint as my mouth massages under his head.
He grunts, stiffening, eyelids flattened to narrow slits.
When he’s trying not to be late for practice...
“Ungh. C-coming…fuuck.”
My hand drops to my dick as the first rope of cum coats the roof of my mouth.
The muscles in his thighs swell as I drink him down.
His chest heaves as my lips tighten around him, and my hand flies from my dick to massage his balls.
I swallow every fucking drop, and he shudders, his back falling to the mattress.
He twitches in my mouth, and my eyes roll closed as I lick his slit until the last bead of his release is blessing my tongue. Then he slides from between my lips.
The curve of his dick, the wet metal points pulsing against his skin…My tongue is reaching for one more taste when I’m pulled up his body.
One second, I’m drowning in his eyes, and the next, I’m on my back, being undressed.