Chapter Six
Nate
This was a bad idea.
Quite possibly one of my worst.
No wonder Lacey blushed. This place’s like something straight out of Fifty Shades of Grey.
In fact, I think it might make Christian blush.
Though for twenty-four dollars an hour, I think I could handle just about anything at this point, and I’m running out of options. Which is why I’ll just have to suck it up and deal because there’s no way I’m not applying here.
The guys here are hot as fuck—and there’s a couple I’ve caught stealing glances at me since I got here.
Probably because they can tell this isn’t my scene. Either that or they’re judging my taste in fashion because they know I thrifted this outfit from the consignment store across the street from Lacey’s apartment.
Of course they can’t know that. That’s crazy.
I’m just freaking out because I haven’t been out in a long time, and it’s been even longer since I picked up a guy at a bar.
Not that I’m picking anyone up here, tonight. At least, I hadn’t planned on it, but I’m not opposed to the idea.
I move through the crowd of people on the dance floor; the heavy throbbing bass and haunting melody of “The Death Of Peace Of Mind” by Bad Omens echoing through the air, but whoever’s singing it isn’t them.
It sounds sexy as hell, though, I won’t lie.
Totally fitting for this place with all its gothic-y vibes.
Maybe if I grab a drink, it’ll calm my nerves enough to not feel like a total outsider. Which I am, and it’s not just because this is some sexy kink club or whatever.
I haven’t been to this town since I was nine.
A lot has changed, and though I’ve seen a few things that still exist from my childhood—like the Twist-E-Treat down the road from Gram’s or the ball field I used to hang out in when I was little, there’s more I don’t know than I do.
Which only makes me feel like I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I never did.
But at least for now, I have to stay until I can get all this shit settled with Gram’s house. I still don’t know what I’m going to do once I get everything transferred in my name, but Lacey said not to jump ahead of myself, so…
I’m trying not to think about it. After all, the agent I talked to—Duncan or Dylan or whatever his name was, I can’t remember it right now—said it could take up to a month for everything to get approved and smoothed out.
Which means I’m going to be here at least until Thanksgiving if that’s the case, so I really need to start making some money and getting my shit together. My pitiful savings is only going to last me so long, probably a couple months at best.
I try to flag the bartender down, but he’s not even looking this way.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” a smooth voice purrs from beside me. I turn to see a man dressed in a clean-cut black suit with a very shiny watch looking me up and down like I’m a piece of meat he wants to take a bite out of. The look is equal parts pleasing and kind of creepy.
“You must be new here.”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask, feeling my cheeks warm. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s probably in his early thirties, but I’ve never been the best at guessing people’s ages. Nor do I care.
Age is just a number. As long as we’re both consenting adults, who gives a shit?
At least, that’s what I tell myself because admitting I like men old enough to be my dad feels fucking pervy as shit.
Even Evan—who was barely seven years older than me—thought it was weird when I told him I wanted to role play the whole student-teacher thing, even though I purely said professor-student.
Mostly because my art history teacher was hot, and Evan looked sexy as hell in glasses.
Of course, I didn’t think it was that weird until he made a big deal about it, and after that, I learned to keep my mouth shut about the things that turn me on.
If I focus on my partners, make sure they are happy and satisfied, that’s all that matters right?
The guy chuckles darkly, sipping from his glass, and fuck if it isn’t making my dick all tingly at the moment.
“That’s not a bad thing, handsome," he says, draining the rest of what’s in his glass. “A first time can be quite… thrilling.”
I swallow hard. Something about his words make my skin prickle with goosebumps. Or that could just be me. I shouldn’t be so nervous, but I can’t help it.
“What’s your poison?” he asks, breaking my momentary thought.
I chew my lip, debating what to say.
I’d planned on getting a drink, but being offered is a lot better.
Especially by a specimen like this guy. He kind of reminds of Evan’s stockbroker, actually; which only makes me want him more.
I’m not a vengeful person or a vindictive one, but maybe I should be.
Maybe I need to be more of an asshole and the universe will start to reward me.
Because every asshole I know is confident, successful, and doesn’t give a shit about feelings.
Though if I am applying for a gig here, I probably shouldn’t canoodle with the patrons, but…
What’s the harm in having a little fun? I’ve had a rough week.
Hell, I’ve had a rough go since we moved to Kentucky.
And maybe I like the way he keeps looking at me.
Maybe I like a little attention. Who doesn’t?
“Don’t suppose I can get one of those Hard Lemonade things here,” I joke, trying to be cool. But Mr. Sexy Suit frowns. Shit.
I fucked up. Should I have said something pretentious and stuffy like scotch on the rocks or something?
Before I can respond, he shakes his head. “Tell you what, how about you let me decide what should go in that pretty little mouth of yours.”
It’s the way he says the words. Sharp. Precise. Like they aren’t words, but some sort of code. But the way he’s looking at me—at my mouth and…
“Uh…” Heat floods my cheeks and I start to stammer, because it’s been way too long since a hot guy looked at me like that and bought me a drink. “Sure,” I say, swallowing hard, anxiety and excitement building within me.
Maybe my luck’s finally starting to change.
I’ve lost count of how many drinks Michael—if that is his real name—has bought me, but I swear I’ve never felt better. The music throbs in the air, and my entire body feels hot and sweaty, but that’s from the lights, I think.
We’ve been dancing for… I don’t know how long.
I can’t remember the last time I let go like this. It feels… good.
Too good.
And so does Michael’s dick that he’s been grinding against me all night.
“Why don’t we take this upstairs?” he purrs in my ear.
I giggle, feeling the effects of the sugary cocktails he’s been buying me. I swear they don’t even taste like there’s anything in them.
I open my mouth, attempting to find the will to speak, but words are hard, and everything’s blurry.
So fucking blurry…
Especially when I feel his hand slide over my cock and squeeze me. All I can do is yelp as I try to catch my breath.
He pulls on my hips, and I stumble from the motion, nearly falling over into someone else who shoves me back.
“Watch it, asshole,” they say, and I swear the room’s spinning.
Shit.
I’m really drunk.
I reach out to steady myself against a high top table, but I miss, and instead I fall right into Michael who just laughs that dark laugh.
Someone’s hands settle on my waist, and I feel a hardness press against my ass.
I blink, looking up at Michael, and that’s when I realize someone else is behind me. Grinding their erection against me.
I blink as my stomach starts to turn. I think I’m going to be sick.
“You can have him when I’m done, Beck,” Michael says, his voice cold, sharp.
“Aw come on, Daddy, let me play with him…”
His hands on my hips are harsh, and my legs feel like Jell-o. My head hurts, and I try to push away from him, but his grip is too tight. I reach for Michael, but he doesn’t reach back.
Why isn’t he reaching back…
“Make it quick,” he says. “I’ve only got the room for an hour, and you know I hate waiting.”
The man behind me, whose name I can’t remember, drags me away, my feet moving like lead and panic hits me hard as I realize I can’t fight him because I’m wasted as fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck…
“There you are,” another voice says, one that sounds vaguely familiar, though I can’t place it.
I blink, but everything is so fucking blurry between the lights and my pounding head.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Sorry I’m late,” they say, and the man behind me tenses.
“Fuck off, August, he’s already claimed for the night.”
August? Who the hell is August?
“You’re right about that. He is.” I feel warm hands on my wrist and my body is pulled away again, into someone else.
“You know the rules,” the asshole behind me says.
“So do you,” August growls. “And judging from how fucked up he is, I doubt you even bothered to explain them to him.”
Rules? What rules?
Before the guy can answer, August tightens his grip around me, and the warmth of his body is like a cozy fire…
Fire…
My legs feel like deadweight, and I stumble, but his grip only tightens and he whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry, Bright Eyes, I got you. You’re safe now.”
And I think I must be drunker than I thought, because I swear when I look up at August, I’m hallucinating.
Because August looks an awful lot like AJ—the fireman who saved me.
I fall against him, my legs giving out, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he lets out a low, raspy sigh and his hand splays over the small of my back. We’re almost the same height, I think.
Or maybe I’m just spiraling because I’ve had too much to drink…
My head’s a mess, and I don’t have the energy or the ability to argue with him, so I don’t. I lean against AJ, letting out a moan of misery because I think I am going to throw up.
“Sick,” I groan, just as a rush of cold air hits my face, and I push away from him.
“Oh, fuck,” I hiss as I drop to my knees and my bad decisions find their way back up and out the way they came.
“It’s okay,” AJ says, his raspy voice somehow warm and smooth. Like silk.
His fingers rub my back and it’s strangely comforting. I groan as another wave of vomit makes its presence known.
“Just let it out.”
I groan and whimper because this is not how I planned on spending the night.
At all.
I move to wipe the back of my mouth with my hand.
My head feels slightly better, and words are starting to form in my brain. I look up at AJ, my vision clear as day.
It’s him.
It’s really him.
Mr. Hot Firefighter.
And suddenly a fresh wave of nausea hits me that I know has nothing to do with alcohol
Because this? This is a new fucking low, even for me.
“Come on,” he says as he helps me up, pulling me against him. I bury my head against his chest as the shame and guilt start to surface.
AJ shifts me, and then I feel something tighten across my chest. I close my eyes, my stomach flipping. I pray I don’t throw up again.
“I’m never drinking again,” I murmur. I feel warmth on my thigh, followed by a comforting squeeze, and I can’t fight the darkness any longer, so I let it pull me under.