Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
SECRETS SUCKED—LITERALLY.
They reached inside a body, found whatever soul a person possessed, and sucked it out like a fucking Hoover on turbo until nothing remained but a walking, talking husk of a human.
Still, that was preferable to having someone rip your actual guts out, which would have happened had Tate not held on to his secret tighter than a virgin asshole.
His secret began long before he understood he’d need to keep it for his whole goddamn shitty life. It began early in his childhood when he’d been a sponge absorbing the toxicity his parents poured on him. Parents was a loose term. Sperm and egg donors turned roommates painted a more accurate picture.
By thirteen, he’d long been caring for himself and his needs. Hell, he’d been more responsible than his damn brother, who was older by three years. Randy came out of the womb a damn fuck-up, feet first, and not even smart enough to take a breath until the doctor whacked him on his ass.
Food? Tate had shopped for it, begged it from friends, and even stole it if he got hungry enough.
Clothes? Goodwill for the win.
Shelter? Their shitty trailer was about the only thing his old man had ever paid for. To this day, they have never paid a lot fee. His mother had been banging the trailer park’s manager for as long as he could remember.
Slutty mom for the win.
That left love and affection, but he didn’t think someone in their trailer park had experience with either. Even Letti and Jack, the newlyweds in the trailer diagonal from his, hated each other’s fucking guts. Oh, they’d devour each other’s faces for all the world to see and profess their undying love at the top of their lungs, but their fights could wake the dead, and Letti slashed the tires on Jack’s bike last week. New ones were expensive as hell, and Jack worked at a damn junkyard. She wouldn’t have pulled that shit if she loved him for real. He had a sneaking suspicion Letti was banging Daryl on the side too.
They lived in a fucked-up town with fucked-up people.
Last week, he heard Old Man Richards, who lived in the first lot in their park, say nothing could shock him after living in Swan for over fifty years.
I could shock him. I could shock the shit outta him.
God, I’m in a mood.
It had been a long, frustrating day, and traffic to Tulsa sucked, turning the sixty-minute trip into almost ninety. Randy gave him shit for not hanging out tonight too. He and Whitney got in a fight—big fucking surprise—and he needed someone to listen to him bitch while he drank half a case of beer.
But Tate had needs, too, and he hadn’t had his needs met in six months.
Tonight, that was going to change. He’d needed a nameless man with stellar sucking skills to swallow his cock and drain his balls. Fuck, it had been so damn long. He’d been a surly bastard this past week. Even his mother asked what crawled up his ass, and she barely knew what year it was on a good day.
His hand wasn’t cutting it anymore. He needed to get off with another person, and to do that, he had to go out of town. Way out of town to Tulsa, the only place with a gay bar, and was far enough from home that he didn’t have to look over his shoulder every two seconds.
But he did anyway.
Some habits were unbreakable, especially when they kept him breathing.
He got half-hard on the walk from his car to the club, imagining the sea of men grinding all over each other beyond the entrance. His brother would stroke out if he got a peek inside, but not before beating the shit out of Tate.
As he strode to the entrance, he rolled his shoulders and tried to shake off the unease that always cropped up when he went there. No matter how many years he’d been playing this game, he couldn’t shake the fear he’d return home, and somehow, they’d all know. Maybe someone would smell lingering cum on his breath. Maybe Daryl would take one look at his sated smile and shout, “Holy fuck, you got off with a dude.” Or he’d show up at a job site on Monday, and Randy would be waiting to pound him into the ground because someone saw him fucking a twink’s throat behind the club.
It hadn’t happened yet, but it could.
The possibility of discovery always hovered, dampening the experience. It was hard to fully let go when he had to keep one eye on alert.
“Hey there,” a giant bouncer said as he approached. The guy gave him a suggestive once-over that screamed of sex, but he wasn’t Tate’s type. At six-foot-two with a fairly solid build, Tate preferred men smaller and slimmer than he was. This mountain of a man didn’t do much for him. “Ten dollar cover waived if you give me your ass after my shift.”
Fuck no.
Never going to happen. He did not bottom. Ever. But knowing someone wanted him never failed to boost his ego. “Sorry, man, not my thing.” Tate wasn’t one to beat around the bush or play coy. He didn’t have time for that shit. He needed to get in, get off, and get out before he made too much of an impression. Anonymity was the name of the game.
The bouncer pouted and held out his hand. “Cover’s fifteen.”
Snorting, Tate raised an eyebrow. What a fucking hustler.
“Inflation sucks,” the bouncer said with a shrug.
“Fine.” Instead of telling this guy where he could shove the extra five bucks, he fished two bills out of his wallet and slapped them in the bouncer’s palm.
Just went to show how badly he needed another man’s hand on his cock.
After accepting the stamp, which the bouncer dug into his skin like he was trying to brand him, Tate wandered into the club. His heart rate immediately thumped in time with the EDM pulsing through the building.
Clubs weren’t his typical scene. Most weekend nights, he could be found sitting in a lawn chair, drinking beer with his friends and Randy around a shitty bonfire in the center of the trailer park, or drag racing behind the abandoned factory on the outside of town. Sometimes, they hit up a sports bar, but dance clubs?
Fuck no.
But he did what he had to do when the loneliness crept in, and his mask felt too heavy to wear another day.
Christ, he sounded like a damn sad sack.
After grabbing a beer from the bar, he took his usual spot propped against a wall to search for his conquest. When he found him, Tate would dance. One dance. No more. He couldn’t dance to save his life, but he could grind against a hot ass for a few moments before taking them out back for a quick suck or fuck.
Bodies moved all around, flowing with the heavy beat. Most were men, but a few women were sprinkled throughout the mix. The thing that stuck with Tate the most every time he went there was the variety of people.
Big and small.
Old and young.
Black and white.
Flashy and subdued.
They represented all walks of life with one main commonality.
They were all queer.
And no one blinked an eye. Hell, it was fucking celebrated with the cheesy rainbow streamers and blowjob shots given out like water. Inside these four walls represented a world in which Tate belonged.
But he also belonged where he came from, and the two universes did not mix. Maybe someday someone would be brave enough to bridge the gap, but Tate couldn’t be that man. He’d seen firsthand what happened to people like him in Swan, and he knew to the very depths of his soul he’d lose every single person in his life if he came out.
Was it wrong?
Fuck yes.
But it was his reality.
The song changed, though they all sounded the same to him, and a flash of bright pink caught his eye. He craned his neck to see past a couple making out and groping each other in his line of sight. The taller guy broke off the kiss, whispered something to his partner, then dragged him off the dance floor.
“Be safe, kids,” Tate muttered, lifting his beer in salute.
The second they moved away, the dancer in pink came into view.
Tate’s blood rushed south. He was so hard-up that a glimpse of a sexy man made him chub right up.
“Jesus,” he whispered as he straightened off the wall.
Like all the others, the guy danced to the music, but that’s where the similarities ended. This guy moved on another level entirely. He danced like he was one with the music, flowing, spinning, and twisting in perfect time to the beat. He wore dark jeans and a skin-tight hot pink T-shirt that showcased sleek muscles every time he shifted.
Tate swallowed a painful gulp of beer. His cock filled so fast that he needed to reach for the wall to steady himself. The guy’s eyes were closed, and a blissed-out smile curled his full lips, lips that would look unreal wrapped around Tate’s dick. Sweat ran down the side of his face, tempting Tate’s tongue and teasing his cock. His short, dark hair had been artfully styled in gelled spikes.
Tate wanted, needed to mess it the fuck up while he choked the guy on his dick.
He was fucking beautiful.
He stared for a few more minutes before setting his empty beer bottle on the floor against the wall. As though in a trance, he closed the distance to his prey. Each step brought him closer to all that beauty and grace. That’s what it was. Somehow, while vibing to club music, the guy managed to convey grace and elegance.
Randy would drop dead on the spot if he had a front-row seat to Tate’s thoughts. But Tate couldn't stop them, just as he couldn’t keep himself from tucking up behind the dancer in pink.
The guy sensed his presence and opened his eyes before Tate got close enough to touch. But he could smell him, and, damn, did he smell intoxicating. The man shook his head and opened his mouth, probably to tell Tate to fuck off, but then his gaze went hot and dark as it took a slow journey up and down Tate’s body. He couldn’t help but puff out his chest and didn’t bother hiding the tent in his jeans. Everywhere that heated gaze touched, fire licked across his skin. Tate was burning up, and all they’d done was stare at each other.
If they touched, he might turn to ash and blow away.
His heart pounded harder than the time he’d chased after Whitney, who tried to run down Randy with his brother’s own car. That day, he’d thought he needed to drive himself to the hospital once he caught up to Whitney. His heart nearly shot out of his chest.
If he went into cardiac arrest now, there’d be no shortage of sexy men willing to blow air into his lungs.
But only one had his dick hard as a fucking railroad spike.
The dancer’s chest rose and fell, showcasing strong but not bulky pecs. If Tate could have given God a list of characteristics for the man he wanted crafted for his personal pleasure, this guy was it. A body made for moving.
He raised an eyebrow. An invitation.
The guy licked his lips, and Tate grunted as his damn dick twitched, which earned him a smirk.
“Liam,” the guy said, still moving in the most seductive way imaginable. “And yes, I’d love to dance with you.” His voice fit him well—smooth like honey, confident and strong. His honey-colored eyes sparkled with interest.
Without knowing a damn thing about the man, he knew Liam didn’t live a life hiding his identity as Tate did.
Envy twisted low in his gut, but he shoved it aside. Tomorrow, when he wove a fake fucking tale about the woman he fucked on this trip to Tulsa, he could feel that envy. Tonight, he just wanted to feel Liam.
He hooked his finger in one of Liam's belt loops and tugged the smaller man to him. Liam’s eyes flared as their bodies collided. “Tate,” he whispered in Liam’s ear.
He rolled his hips into Liam’s, grinding his erection against the man in time with the music.
“Shit,” Liam mumbled. He looped an arm around Tate’s neck, bringing their chests flush.
His skin was damp from dancing. All he wanted was to lean in and lick the salt off Liam’s neck. He came close, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of the man’s cologne. It had a beachy undertone, perfect for a steamy summer night.
“You didn’t come to play,” his dance partner said as he began to rock them to the music.
Tate chuckled. He could feel Liam’s cock growing against his own, and he let the other man lead, following wherever his hips went. “That’s exactly what I came to do.”
Liam groaned. “I wasn’t looking for anything more than dancing tonight, but I have a feeling I’d regret turning you down for the rest of my life.”
“Fuck yeah, you would.”
They didn’t speak after that. The music took over, and Tate lost himself in Liam’s perfect body. Zaps of electricity coursed through his veins, bringing him to life in a way he hadn’t experienced in ages. Where Liam moved, Tate followed, and before long, they found a rhythm that worked despite Tate’s two left feet. Every time their cocks bumped, Liam breathed out a little puff of air that tickled Tate’s neck and tightened his balls.
The song changed, and neither noticed, continuing straight into the next one, rolling, grinding, and breathing each other in. For all he knew or cared, the rest of the clubgoers had gone home, and only he and Liam remained dancing.
Sweat, the beachy cologne, and desire all rolled into one, invading his senses. As Liam’s scent overwhelmed his brain, Tate’s ability to think disappeared, and all he could do was feel.
And want.
He couldn’t keep his mouth off the man any longer.
He dragged his tongue up the side of Liam’s neck, gathering the trail of sweat that had been torturing him for the past thirty seconds. The move drew a long groan from his dance partner.
Liam turned his face a fraction of an inch. Their lips lined up. Liam’s curved in a hint of a smile before he struck, nipping Tate’s lower lip.
He growled. The sting fired up his blood and drove him to act. He grabbed the back of Liam’s neck with one hand and a firm ass cheek in the other—God, that ass was a handful of perfection—and yanked him even closer. He covered Liam’s mouth with his own in a deep kiss.
Finally .
Liam tasted of gin and freedom. Within seconds, Tate grew drunk on both.
Fireworks went off behind his closed eyelids as Liam’s tongue slid against his own. The guy wasn’t shy. He kissed like a dream and wasn’t afraid to take what he wanted, which seemed to be Tate’s tongue dancing with his the same way their bodies had moved seconds ago.
Soft but sure hands landed at the nape of his neck, playing with the shaggy hair he should have cut weeks ago. A rumble built in his chest like a cat seeking affection. Those hands felt so good, and they were only on his damn scalp.
He had to get himself under control, or he’d fucking die the second Liam got those hands on his skin.
Though, if he was going to go out, that was the way to do it.
It sure beat the bloody attack if his brother and friends found out about this night.