Chapter 14 #3
They’re moving around each other, doing body rolls that highlight every muscle. Noel’s rhythm is perfect, hitting every beat. Kane’s style is different, more power-based, but it works.
They toe off their boots, kicking them to the back of the stage, and they’re barefoot now in those low-hanging tactical pants.
Noel does something I’ve only seen in videos, the worm move where his entire body undulates in waves across the stage floor. It’s mesmerizing, and the way his muscles contract and release is hypnotic.
Kane drops into a one-armed push-up position and lowers himself slowly, his bicep flexing, then pushes back up and spins on his back.
My pulse is racing everywhere, but especially between my thighs.
The music builds to a thundering crescendo, bass vibrating through the floor, and they spin around in unison to face away from the crowd.
Hands go to zippers.
The entire auditorium holds its breath.
They shove their tactical pants down at the same time, bending at the waist to step out of them and unknowingly giving the audience a front-row view of two very unfair asses. The crowd detonates.
Women are on their feet, shrieking, drinks sloshing. The chant starts up again, louder, wilder. “More! More! Take it all off!”
They kick the pants away and turn around in their boxer briefs. Tight. Clinging. Completely, devastatingly unhelpful.
Kane’s are bright green with tiny gingerbread men printed all over them—and every single cookie is frowning with its little iced arms crossed and the words Bite Me stamped across the waistband.
Noel’s are deep red, covered in cartoon snowmen wearing sunglasses and Santa hats. Across the front, in glittery gold script, it says Jingle All The Way.
I slap a hand over my mouth, a laugh bursting out of me anyway. Oh, they are never living this down.
The audience, however, eats it up like it’s the best thing they’ve seen all year, cheering.
“Bite that cookie, baby!” someone screams from the front row, pointing at Kane’s briefs.
“I wanna jingle your bells!” another woman yells at Noel, and her friends absolutely lose it.
“Get on the naughty list!”
“Gingerbread, over here!”
“Jingle-boy, turn around again!”
It’s ridiculous and festive and somehow makes them ten times hotter.
They’re big men, broad, solid, and those stupid novelty briefs do nothing to hide it. The fabric is stretched just enough that a few women in the front start fanning themselves, one of them nearly dropping her drink when she leans too far forward.
Someone in the middle section actually swoons and sits down, her friends clutching her shoulders while laughing so hard they’re crying.
“Oh my God!” a voice screeches from somewhere behind me. “The Bite Me one is mine. I call dibs!”
Kane shoots a murderous look toward us, like he’s already planning revenge on me for convincing him this was a good idea. Noel just tips his head back and laughs, running a hand over the glittering slogan on his waistband like he’s fully prepared to lean into the bit.
And the crowd is ready to worship at the altar of terrible Christmas underwear.
The front rows explode in shrieks.
The woman Noel has been crawling toward almost falls off her chair laughing and screaming at the same time. I can’t stop laughing. He winks at her, blows a kiss, and she screams like her soul left her body.
Kane is still playing coy, shoulders hunched, one hand covering the writing on his waistband like he’s trying to be modest and failing spectacularly.
He peeks out between the fingers of his other hand, and the crowd goes mad, shouting that he’s perfect, that he’s beautiful, that he should never wear pants again.
When he finally drops his hands and flashes a giant grin, the noise hits a new level.
They’re working opposite ends of the stage now, making sure no one feels left out. Noel is all swagger and precision, milking every beat for maximum effect. Kane is a weaponized mix of power and boyish charm.
The song builds toward the final chorus, and they gravitate back to the center, drawn together like magnets. They move perfectly and end up with Noel on one knee, flexed and smirking, Kane behind him with his arms crossed and his head tipped like a challenge.
The music cuts.
The venue erupts.
It’s not just noise; it’s a wall of sound. Women are screaming, laughing, howling their appreciation. Money starts flying like confetti, twenties and fifties fluttering onto the stage.
“They did good,” Ruby murmurs.
“They might have missed their calling,” I say.
Onstage, Noel and Kane straighten, then bow. Then they jog off toward the back, disappearing behind the curtain.
The crowd does not calm. If anything, they get worse. Feral is the only word for it. They’re chanting for more, stomping their feet, demanding an encore.
“That was… I don’t even have the words,” Ruby says. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m mated.”
“I need to check on them,” I manage. My voice comes out a little breathless, like I was the one up there grinding to the beat in novelty briefs.
She grins as I hurry toward the side of the stage.
As the door swings shut behind me, muffling the roar of the bar, the noise drops away. It’s just the hum of backstage lights, the faint echo of the music still playing out front.
Both men are leaning against the wall, chests heaving, covered in a sheen of sweat that leaves their muscles glistening.
“Fuck me,” I blurt out before my brain catches up to my mouth. “I might have just had an orgasm watching you both.”
They stare at me with identical expressions of hunger.
Kane and Noel are both still in their Christmas briefs. There’s a sheen of sweat along Noel’s throat, a drop sliding down between his pecs, and I have to physically lock my knees to stop from swaying.
“Where did you learn those moves?” I ask, shamelessly staring. I can’t help it. I’m drinking in every line of muscle, every bead of sweat, every flex and stretch. “Because I might need some private shows. Like, soon. Very soon.”
Noel laughs, still catching his breath, hands braced on his thighs. “That was more exhausting than tracking down criminals,” he says. “Who knew dancing could be such a workout?”
The way his stomach tightens when he laughs is so unfair.
“I didn’t think I’d like it so much,” Kane admits.
He drags his forearm across his forehead, smearing sweat and leaving his hair even more of a chaotic mess.
My gaze tracks the movement, the way the muscles in his arm tighten, the way a glistening trail runs from his chest down over his abs and disappears into that stupid green waistband.
“But hearing them scream like that?” He huffs out a breath, still wired. “Kind of addictive.”
He appears lit from the inside, eyes bright with leftover adrenaline. It does dangerous things to my heart rate.
“So what persona are you doing next?” I ask, trying very hard to focus on the logistics of the event and not on how badly I want to lick a line up his chest. “There are more costumes to select from behind you on the desk, as the guys left them here.”
“Wait.” Kane’s eyes almost bulge out. “We’re doing more than one performance? I gave everything I had. All my moves.”
I blink. “Well, yeah. I don’t have any other entertainment lined up. You two are it for the rest of the night. Maybe two or three more songs?”
Noel straightens, rolling his shoulders back like he’s settling a mantle over them. “Okay, leave it to us,” he says, already striding toward the pile of costumes the original dancers abandoned. “We’ve got this.”
He passes close enough that the heat from his body brushes mine, and the scent of him punches straight through me. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch him, to see if he’s as hot under my palm as he appears.
Kane moves in on my other side, slower, staying right in my space. He’s close enough that the fine hairs on my arm stand up, that I can hear the rough drag of his breath. I try not to stare. I fail spectacularly.
There’s a flush along his throat, color high in his cheeks. He appears wild. Untamed. Like if I told him I wanted him right now, he’d put his hands on me and forget there was a room, a bar, a world beyond us.
“You know,” he murmurs, leaning down until his mouth is right at my ear. His breath is hot against my skin, and my stomach drops like I’ve missed a step. “If you want your own personal dance, we have conditions.”
The way he says we sends a bolt of heat straight through me. I giggle. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
He smiles, slow and satisfied, like I’ve given him exactly the answer he wanted. His fingers find my hip, just the tips pressing in through my clothes, not quite a grab, but not quite innocent either.
“We go all the way,” he says, voice dropping, each word a deliberate stroke. “Everything off. And you have to watch us. Completely naked too. Only fair, right?”
My face burns up, and the heat doesn’t stop there. It rushes through my chest, my belly, lower, leaving me lightheaded. I swallow, my mind trying to picture it and immediately shorting out.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I manage. “None of you would be able to concentrate on your moves if I was watching naked.”
His thumb flexes against my hip in a tiny, possessive squeeze, like he’s imagining it too.
“Oh, we would,” Noel calls from the costume heap without even turning around. He’s bent over a box, briefs stretched obscenely tight, and I lose my train of thought for a second. “We’d be very motivated to perform our absolute best.”
The word perform does not feel safe in this conversation.
“Focus on your next performance first,” I say, the words a little breathier than I’d like. “Then we can discuss… private shows.”
Kane’s gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. There’s something hungry there now, layered over the amusement.
“Careful what you promise, Hannah,” he murmurs. “We take our commitments very seriously.”
Across the room, Noel straightens, holding up a new costume piece. “Good news,” he says. “Round two is going to blow their minds.”
Kane doesn’t look away from me. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Pretty sure that’s becoming a theme tonight.”
Before I can turn away, Kane hooks two fingers in the waistband of my jeans and tugs.
I stumble a half step, and then his mouth is on mine.
There’s no hesitation, no testing the waters, just a hard, hungry press that steals the air from my lungs. He tastes like sugar and salt and faint beer, his lips hot and a little rough, and my hands go to his bare chest on instinct.
He’s slick with sweat, heat rolling off him in waves.
My fingers drag over the solid plane of muscle, finding the curve of his shoulder, the heavy beat of his heart under my palm.
He makes a sound low in his throat, half groan, half growl, and the hand at my hip tightens, dragging me flush against him.
The world drops away in a rush. There’s no bar, no roaring crowd. Just the thud of bass through the wall, his mouth moving against mine, his breath mixing with mine as he deepens the kiss.
He tilts his head, angling for more, and I open for him without even thinking about it. Heat roars through me, sharp and bright. My knees soften. He’s the only thing holding me upright, fingers digging into me, thumb pressing just under the waistband of my jeans like he wants more skin.
I slide one hand up, up, until my fingers brush the back of his neck. Damp hair, hot skin, the flex of tendon. He kisses like he dances, committed, all in, nothing held back, and every second of it feels like a bad idea I never want to stop having.
When I finally tear my mouth away, I’m breathing hard, my lips tingling, my whole body buzzing like I’ve been plugged into a socket.
My gaze drops before I can stop it.
Yeah. That’s… not subtle.
His cock is straining against those ridiculous green boxer briefs, the fabric pulled tight over gingerbread men and the “Bite Me” slogan now sitting at a very distracting angle.
Heat slams low in my belly.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this right now,” I whisper, though I don’t step back. I can’t. My fingers are still curled against his chest, feeling every rapid breath.
His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. “Pretty sure that ship sailed the second you promised us private shows,” he murmurs.
From across the room, Noel laughs, the sound rich and amused. “The girls are going to lose their minds,” he calls, not even looking up from the costume pile. “Authenticity in performance and all that.”
The reminder hits like a splash of cold water. Fifty drunk, feral women. A schedule. An event I am technically responsible for.
“I’ll stall as long as I can,” I tell them, forcing my hand to flatten once more against Kane’s chest before I peel myself away. He lets me go, but his fingers trail along my waist as I step back, reluctant to lose contact. “Take your time. Make it good.”
“Oh, we will,” Noel says, finally glancing over with a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your audience.”
My audience.
My men.
The thought is reckless and dangerous and does awful, wonderful things to my pulse.
I slip back out front. The noise swallows me instantly. Ruby is already onstage with the microphone, working the room like the pro she is, getting them to shout, to cheer to keep the energy high.
My head is spinning.
That pulse of arousal I felt when I took Noel into my mouth, how I crawled into Kane’s bed? The same tight, breathless need from breakfast with Chris yesterday? It’s slamming into me again, harder this time. Meaner.
Waves of heat that have nothing to do with the temperature in the bar roll through me, leaving my skin too tight. There’s a heavy ache building between my thighs, persistent and insistent, and every time I blink, I see Kane’s mouth, Noel’s grin, the way they moved onstage in those stupid briefs.
Not sure moving in with them and being this close all the time is doing my pre-heat situation any favors.
I need suppressants. Soon. Very soon.
Before I do something even more reckless than letting them strip for fifty drunk women…
Like asking for that private show and not stopping at a kiss with all three.