Chapter Six #3
Keith cut him off. “You would have if all the blood rushing to your dick had left you capable of thinking.” Two people strolled away from the bar, arm in arm, resulting in a pair of empty barstools.
Keith nudged Daire’s shoulder. “Go! Now! Don’t lose your chance.
You’re not the only one who’s noticed fresh meat in the bar tonight. ”
Did he dare? Before he could overthink, Daire took his beer and tried to swagger down to the now-empty barstool next to the man he hoped to take home later, but with his brain fully occupied with anticipation, he couldn’t say if he succeeded. He’d settle for not tripping.
He lowered his voice to a husky growl known to drop men to their knees in the past, but still loud enough to be heard over the chaos of the lively bar and whatever country music blared in the background. “Mind if I sit?” The man didn’t smell familiar, so not from a mountain court.
Smoking Hot Biker rolled his gaze upward. “Depends on where you want to sit.” He patted his thigh. Oh, hell. How could anyone put so much innuendo into so few words?
Daire sat down on the barstool before he fell, plunking his beer on the bar. No turning away from this stranger, or disgusted grimace—yet. A dragon would recognize his injuries, acquired in battle, not believing for a moment the tale of a nasty car accident.
“Yeah, that works as my second choice, or possibly third.” The man’s playful smirk ignited fires in Daire’s groin. Damn. Close proximity sent the man from fine to superfine. “Thanks for the drink.”
Drink? What drink? Oh, the one in the guy’s hand. “You’re welcome. Ain’t seen you here before.”
“That’s probably ’cause I’ve never set foot in the place. Didn’t know anyone like you lived around these parts, or I might’ve made the effort before now.” The beta’s dimpled smile could charm dragons from the sky.
Whatever magic took Daire from work to drop him here, he saw no reason to leave.
“’Cause I’m the only guy like me. The Goddess only made one.
” Daire stuck out his hand, not hiding the goddess comment like he normally would around humans.
“Dai…Griffin. But folks call me Griff.” Stay on your guard, dipshit.
Don’t tell him your real name! He sensed nothing sinister yet.
If Sakaris sent this dragon, he’d say so, right?
The man slid his hand against Daire’s, calluses against calluses, holding longer than completely necessary. Ah, the hands of a working man. They’d feel so glorious on Daire’s body.
“Jim,” the man said, leaning close enough to waft woodsy cologne and beta dragon into Daire’s senses, and for his faint Southern rumble to be heard over the music. “You can call me Jim.” Jim’s smile turned downright wicked. “But I’d rather you scream it.”
Oh, hell. And didn’t that innuendo amp Daire’s libido, leaving him struggling for breath?
He liked direct. A lot. There was direct, and then direct.
He lifted his gaze to the TV above the bar, currently showing a football game he’d not paid attention to.
While tangling with a dragon might become a problem, especially since Daire avoided his own kind, things were going fine so far. Might as well take the plunge.
He took a deep breath, then blurted, “My place ain’t far. We can watch the game…or something. You drinking whiskey? I’ve got a supply, plus plenty of beer.”
Jim ran a finger over Daire’s hand—currently locked in a death grip on a beer bottle—the touch igniting fire in Daire’s soul.
“As long as you got a bed ain’t already got somebody else in it, I’ll be good.
Or maybe not so good.” Jim winked. There he went with the innuendo again.
“I’ll settle for a couch. Hell, the floor will do. ”
Daire laid three, possibly four, twenties on the bar. Getting out of here fast meant he didn’t actually care. Keith's running interference earned him a tip he’d talk about for days. “Wanna ride with me or follow?” Had the rain started again?
“I’ll follow. I don’t like leaving my Harley here.”
Good, because if this hot-as-fuck guy got into the truck, they’d never get out of the parking lot. Daire wanted biker for dinner, to feel Jim’s taut body, taste salty skin, bury his nose in brown pubes, and….
He’d ignore the voice nagging about longing to be with another dragon. For a short while, he’d pretend maybe he could go home again. He’d worry about what Jim saw in him later. Or never. Maybe Jim simply wanted a taste of home, too.
Jim rose, giving a lop-sided grin. Daire’s knees nearly buckled. “I’d invite you to ride with me, but I only brought one helmet.” He pulled out a helmet from beneath the bar, deep scratches suggesting a bounce or two taken on pavement.
Daire waved to a laughing Keith, never missing a stride out the door, nearly running like the linebacker on TV, determined to get out of there. He’d plow over anyone in the way. No rain now. Good, though a soaking might cool him down enough to get the truck home.
Though rain might discourage the biker.
Daire had plans for Mr. Dragon Biker.