What the hell?
I was not the sort of guy ordered to give a blow job in a club bathroom. So why the hell had I already sunk to my knees, fumbling with the button on his pants? I paused only briefly before I pushed them down as far as I needed, while Nicholas grabbed himself and gave himself a few slow strokes. Jesus, even his dick was perfection. Thick but not scary huge, uncut, and currently pointing straight at me.
I glanced up at him. The second I made contact with those eyes, I was lost again. Replacing his hand with mine, I slowly gave one lick from his base to his tip, pausing at his slit for a little extra attention. The quick intake of breath gave me the confidence to continue, and I opened my mouth and took him in as deeply as I could. I still didn’t have much of a gag reflex, but I was out of practice. I gradually sucked back to the tip, running my tongue around the head before lowering my mouth again.
“Jesus,” he breathed. I swallowed him a little further and grabbed his hips, increasing my pace. I was able to take him a little further each time. When I felt him slide down the back of my throat, I reminded myself to relax. He was hot and hard and kneeling in front of a stranger in a club bathroom should have felt seedy, but there was something about this man. I would kneel for him anywhere.
The smooth, soft skin covering his hard cock glided across my tongue. I wanted more. More of his heat. More of his cock. More of him. His hands grabbed my hair, not too roughly but obviously trying to stop me.
“Close,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. I grabbed his hips to stop him pulling away and increased my efforts until I felt his whole body stiffen, and the grip on my hair tightened. With his dick all the way at the back of my throat, I barely had the chance to taste him while he came. I swallowed as quickly as I could so I didn’t risk losing a drop. I slowly pulled away and sat back on my heels, licking my lips slowly and looking up at him. His head hung back for a minute before he cleared his throat and tucked himself back, then reached for my hand to help me stand.
“My turn,” he said with a lazy smile, before a hard knock on the door interrupted us.
“Ky, get your arse back out here. Alex needs to speak to you about these bloody emails,” Antony yelled.
Fuck.
Chapter Five
I spent the next few days revisiting Aimee Short’s social media accounts, as well as those of her friends and cousins, scrolling through mentions on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. There still hadn’t been any activity on her bank accounts, which we expected. Early in the week, a few potential sightings had sounded promising, but after more disappointing results, we had gone back to combing through her emails in between the other cases we were working on.
Each phone call or email interrupted my concentration and brought me back to thinking about Nicholas. I was confused and felt unsteady. I hadn’t taken a risk like I did in the bathroom at the club for a very long time. I was usually so careful. I had never felt that out of control before. But I had felt safe, and the contradiction was confusing me. How could I possibly have felt safe when I didn’t feel like I had any control? I hated not having control. I needed it.
On Wednesday of the following week, Ant and I grabbed some dinner and then stopped in at The Subway Station. Ant wanted to show me some ideas for changes he was thinking of suggesting to the owners. I thought Ant was still hoping I would be a more frequent visitor to the club, perhaps even become a member. I could feel the way he was trying to get me invested—I think he wanted us to have something in common again, but it wasn’t going to happen. I adored Ant and I was just as grateful we had been able to rekindle our friendship, but a kink club was definitely his thing, not mine. I was vanilla and boring, but I was okay with that.
Ant talked animatedly about the private rooms, some enclosed, some with glass walls. He dragged me through the hallway to one of the available rooms, describing different set-ups and what the different rooms were used for. Kink and some of the things he discussed wasn’t really me, but the idea of watching was a little intriguing. I wasn't sure I would ever have the guts to actually come and watch, but the idea in the back of my mind certainly wasn’t a turn-off.
We made our way through a larger room used for private parties but currently not in use, and he asked my opinion on a couple of colour choices before leading me back to the main club area. The young-looking bartender—Sam, I think his name was—smiled and asked us if we wanted anything. I declined politely, and Ant talked to him about stuff on the club’s online business. I didn’t really understand, so I scanned the club.
When I glanced around, I wasn’t looking for him. Not at all. Just there to check on the changes Ant was talking about. Yep, no other reason. Simply helping an old friend. I didn’t care if I saw him or not.
And then—there he was, across the room with a man wearing pants so tight he must have lost feeling in his legs plastered to his side, whispering in his ear. Nick shook his head and went to step away, but his eyes met mine right as the other man grabbed his arm and pulled him in to whisper again. He held my gaze for just a moment before turning away and leading the man towards the door.
Seriously, how did I get that so wrong?
I was usually good at reading people. I was sure there had been a connection, and it couldn’t have been only the sex. I’ve had sex with heaps of guys. Okay, wow. I mean I’ve had sex with a completely average number of guys and never felt a spark or connection.
I barely heard anything else Ant said to me, just nodded when there was a pause.
I made my excuses and headed home.
The following week I was assigned to training with some of my team, and it was kicking our arses. When Saturday came around and Ant wasn’t even subtle in trying to find an excuse to get me to come to the club, I hesitated but eventually conceded and agreed to meet him, though I made it clear it was only for one or two drinks. Today was our final training day, and I had a couple drinks after work with the guys before heading home to get changed and heading to The Subway Station.
As always, I stayed longer than I intended. When the fatigue from the past week started to catch up with me, I decided it was time to make my excuses. Shifting a little closer to Ant, I waited for him to finish talking to the men he was standing with so I could say goodbye.
It’s like my eyes lifted involuntarily to seek him out. Nicholas was walking to the dance floor, holding the hands of a guy a couple of years older than me and a younger man in black pants and a black sequined top.
I tried to ignore him. Why was I so fixated on someone who didn’t seem to have the same problem? Something was definitely wrong with me. Maybe that third drink had messed with my judgement. I was pretty sure I had had three. Had had three? Have had had? Whatever. You couldn’t count the ones I had with the guys from work because that wasn’t here and that was totally how alcohol worked, and you couldn’t count the tequila shots Ant poured to celebrate someone or other’s birthday because ugh, tequila, so yes, three drinks it was. Maybe four. The generous size of the pours was totally irrelevant.
For a moment, I forgot I was trying to leave. I tried to make small talk with the group standing with Ant, but I couldn’t stop finding Nicholas on the dance floor every chance I got. He didn’t seem to be having the same issue. He was holding the younger man as they danced, and the older man moved in time with them, his hand wrapped around his partner from behind. He leaned forward and whispered in Nicholas’s ear. I really didn’t like it.