Chapter 30 Dorian
“The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion.”
— Proverbs 28:1 KJV
Closing time dragged like a bad confession. Dorian moved fast anyway, wiping down bottles, restocking ice, anything to shave minutes off the end of the shift. Every few seconds his eyes flicked to Callahan at the end of the bar, sleeves rolled high, forearms flexed as he nursed whatever he was drinking tonight. The man knew exactly what he was doing. First the sleeves. Then the two buttons. Just enough skin to make Dorian’s mouth go dry.
His phone buzzed against his ass. He shouldn’t look. He did.
Unknown
Would you happen to have any rope, pup? I’ve been thinking of tying you up and teaching you the meaning of restraint.
Heat flashed straight to his dick. Dorian shoved the phone back in his pocket like it burned, cheeks hot, pulse loud in his ears. A customer waved an empty pint. He plastered on a smile and went to refill it—House IPA, same as the guy had been drinking for hours.
Bianca slid in beside him, pulling a different tap. “I’ve never seen anybody chase ass that hard and get absolutely nowhere.”
Dorian blinked. “What?”
“You and House IPA over there.” She jerked her chin toward the customer. “Silver fox, built like a brick shithouse, currently staring at your ass like it owes him money.”
Dorian snorted, trying to play it cool even though his stomach flipped. “Just fishing for tips.”
“Yeah, and I’m the Virgin Mary,” Bianca said. “Dude’s into you.”
He shrugged, topping off the pint. “I’m seeing someone.”
Her jaw dropped. “Since when?”
“None of your business.” He slid the beer across the bar before she could dig deeper.
She gaped, then threw her hands up. “You drop that and walk away? Cruel, Koller. Cruel.”
He flipped her off over his shoulder and kept moving.
Callahan lifted two fingers. Dorian’s heart kicked hard. He swapped out the empty glass, wiped the ring of condensation, leaned in close like he was just doing his job.
“Five minutes,” Callahan whispered, breath warm against Dorian’s ear. “Meet me outside.”
Then he was gone, sliding cash under his glass and disappearing into the crowd.
Five minutes felt like fifty. Dorian’s skin buzzed. He tossed his rag at Bianca’s head on his way out, signed he was taking fifteen, and pushed through the side door.
The night air hit him thick and humid, sticky on his neck. Across the lot Callahan waited in the shadows between two cars, collar finally gone, shirt still open at the throat. Dorian checked over his shoulder—no one else around—and slipped into the narrow space.
Callahan didn’t speak. He grabbed Dorian by the waist, yanked him in, and kissed him hard enough to bruise. Dorian’s hands flew to Callahan’s chest, fingers curling into cotton, anchoring. Callahan’s thigh shoved between his legs, hands gripping Dorian’s hips and dragging him forward until Dorian felt the hard line of him through denim.
Dorian groaned into the kiss, hips rolling on instinct. He tore his mouth away, panting. “Parking lot, Father. Anyone could walk out.”
Callahan’s mouth moved to his neck, teeth scraping skin. “I watched you all night,” he growled against Dorian’s throat. “Smiling at them. Touching glasses. Leaning in close. Like you don’t belong to me.”
He jerked Dorian’s hips again, grinding him down on his thigh. Dorian bit his lip to keep quiet.
“I don’t care if they see,” Callahan said, voice rough. “Let them watch.”
Dorian’s head spun. “You sure? You called earlier sounding scared shitless about Rier.”
Callahan pulled back just enough to look at him. Streetlight cut across his face, sharp cheekbones, eyes dark. He lifted a hand, thumb brushing Dorian’s cheek. “Nothing I do with you is a mistake.”
Dorian’s chest tightened. He covered Callahan’s hand with his own, then guided it down between them. “If someone sees, you lose everything. I can’t ask you to—”
“You don’t have to ask.” Callahan threaded their fingers together. “I already decided.”
The words hit Dorian like communion wine—burning, sacred, terrifying. He surged forward and kissed Callahan again, messy and desperate, pressing so close he could feel both their hearts hammering. He wanted to say it. The real words. The ones that would ruin everything or save it. Instead he poured it into the kiss, into the way he clung, hoping Callahan tasted it anyway.
They always had to hide. Always pretend. It carved him open every time Callahan walked past him in public without a glance. Every time they stole touches in shadows and then went back to being strangers.
Dorian broke the kiss, dizzy. “I need you,” he said, voice cracked open.
Callahan’s eyes softened. “I know.”
“Please.” Dorian gripped Callahan’s shirt like letting go meant losing him forever. “Let me show you.”
“Tell me first.”
Dorian swallowed. The words felt too big, too dangerous. He pushed them out anyway. “I need you so bad it hurts. Can’t breathe right when you’re not there. All I want is to be with you. Service you.” He leaned in, lips brushing the hinge of Callahan’s jaw. “Worship you.”
Callahan’s breath stuttered. “Worship me?”
“Yeah.” Dorian kissed just below his ear. “I’d crawl if you told me to. Kiss your feet. Anything you want.”
“Fuck.” Callahan’s hips jerked forward. “I—”
“Dorian!” Bianca’s voice cut through the dark. “I see your sneaky ass over there! Break’s over, lover boy!”
Dorian dropped his head back with a whine. “Two minutes!” he yelled.
Callahan’s grip tightened, reluctant. “Your place. Where’s the key?”
“Under the broken gnome by the stairs.” Dorian couldn’t stop the grin. “Hour, maybe hour fifteen till we lock up. You gonna stay awake for me, old man?”
Callahan stole one last hard kiss. “Anything for you.” His voice dropped. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
“I won’t.”
“Good boy.”
Dorian peeled himself away, legs shaky, and jogged back to the door. He looked over his shoulder once—Callahan’s taillights flared red as the car started. Then Dorian stepped inside.
Bianca lobbed his rag at his head the second he rounded the corner. “You little sinner,” she crowed, clicking her tongue. “Out there getting nasty in public. I like your style.”
Ice flooded his veins for half a second. Then relief—sharp, dizzying. She didn’t know. Thank God, she didn’t know.
He snatched the rag out of the air and headed for the sink, heart still racing, skin still burning where Callahan had touched him.
Soon.