After a minute, the song turns into a slow and sensual beat. He breaks his dancing queen character and smiles over at me. I move to stand behind him, intoxicated by the whiskey and his body. I wrap an arm around his middle and pull until his ass is nestled against me. I don’t know what I’m doing, but when do I ever when it comes to this man.
I let his movements guide us. I palm his hard abs while his hands reach behind him and roam every inch of my body he can touch. With a slower song, it’s so much easier for me to keep up. Beads of sweat pop up on the back of his neck and along his hairline. I get the urge to lick the droplets up, but I use every last ounce of self-control not to.
I’ll bet he tastes like sex and sin. Like a drug I’d never quit once I started.
Kian
Archer is the king of mixed messages. His lips tell me just friends, but his body? His body tells me we’ll be fucking within the next ten minutes. And because I’m a horny idiot, I ignore his words and believe the hard-on that’s currently pressed against my ass.
He can’t dance. At all. Even right now while he’s following my lead, he’s jerky and uncoordinated. It would be a pity if that translated to the bedroom. I always thought you could tell a lot about a man’s performance by the way he dances. I’ve never wanted to be wrong more than in this moment.
He grips the fabric of my shirt in one hand, while the other clutches my hip, pulling me even closer to him. His nose brushes the shell of my ear, causing goose bumps to rise all over my body. I don’t want this moment to end. I want to live in this imaginary world where he’s not going to change his mind and push me away.
It’s a stupid game I’m playing because I know this ends with him hurting me. It’s like videos I’ve seen of people running with the bulls. They know it’ll most likely end with horns puncturing their spleen, but those idiots show up anyway. That’s me right now. I’m aroused and excited, but my proverbial spleen is about to get obliterated.
I turn around, circling my arms around his neck. Our eyes meet and hold. I try to read where his mind is at, but all I see are more lies. His brown orbs dance with mirth and sparkle with slight intoxication. His palms rest dangerously low on my lower back. A couple centimeters and he’d have a handful of my ass.
Like he knows what I’m thinking, they slip lower. Tingles of anticipation claim my lower half.
“What are we doing?” I ask before I give myself permission to feel all the things barking at my door, begging to be let in.
“I honestly don’t know,” he shouts, not looking away and finally exposing the uncertainty he’s been hiding.
“Want to go to my office and talk?”
“Sure.”
I lead him up the stairs and punch the code into my office door, letting him enter first. There’s nothing special about the space. A desk, a laptop, a bookcase, a file cabinet, and a leather sofa are the only furniture. I had the walls painted the deepest of blacks throughout the entire club, including my office, making them feel like they’re not there at all. Like oblivion is the only thing surrounding you.
The door clicks shut, silencing most of the pounding bass from the club. The instantaneous sound change is striking. Archer saunters over to the large window that looks down at the dance floor. It’s a one-way mirror, so while we can see out, no one can see in.
“I feel voyeuristic watching everyone,” he muses.
“It’s kind of a thrill, right?” I stand next to him, our shoulders touching.
“It is. I didn’t know I was into this sort of thing.” He chuckles.
Our eyes meet at the same moment and whatever conversation we have, we must come to the same understanding because in less than a heartbeat, we’re on each other. He backs me up against the window and grips my jaw between his thumb and forefinger, bringing our lips together. Unlike the other day when we just held them there, tonight, we don’t stay still for even a second. It’s a race to experience each other all at once. He tastes of sweet Scotch whisky and spicy ginger from his drink and like a desperate alcoholic, I suck it from his tongue.
I touch him everywhere over his clothes, but I need more. I already know his hands are rough from labor, but I’m desperate to know what the rest of him feels like. I reach under his shirt, letting my fingers explore his strong abs and run through the patch hair on his chest. Every inch of him is hard and muscled. If I weren’t so lost in sensation, I might get a little self-conscious about how thin and soft I am. In this moment, though, I don’t care.
Still squeezing my jaw, he turns my head to the side and latches onto my earlobe, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. I imagine him doing that same move on the tip of my dick and I harden even more than I was before. He kisses down my neck and then lets go of me completely. I’m a little stunned, but not for long because he yanks my shirt over my head and tosses it behind him.
He bites his lip and regards me with lust in his eyes. His fingertips drag down my chest. He brushes his thumbs over my nipples and then moves lower. With the waistband of my pants in his grip, he pulls me back to him.
Our lips meet again, our tongues dancing and dueling in harmony. But if I’m shirtless, giving him full access to me, I want the same.
“Take this off,” I murmur against his mouth, tugging on the hem of his shirt.
With a cocky smirk, he yanks it over his head, letting it join mine. Skin to skin, our torsos meet and it’s sexy as fuck. I kiss and touch my way down his chest and abdomen, slowly lowering to my knees. I unbutton and unzip his jeans, not daring to look up. If I saw anything but undeniable lust, I’d lose my confidence and call this whole thing off.
“Kian,” he says breathily. “Look at me. You have the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen. I want to see them while your mouth is wrapped around my cock.”
Well, shit.
I slowly raise my eyes, scanning every inch of him on my way up, and goddamn it, what I see has me wanting him to bend me over and fuck me six ways from Sunday.
After the loss of his partner, I was worried if we ever got in the place where we were intimate, there would be three of us in the room together. But Mason isn’t here with us at all. Archer’s one hundred percent here with me.
I get back to work, first pulling his jeans down to his thighs, followed by his gray boxer briefs. His hard cock springs free and it’s everything I expected. Long, thick, and with a fat head oozing with pre-cum. I take it in my hand and lick up the underside until I reach the tip. I swirl my tongue around it, savoring the salty taste.
“Fuck. You have no idea how incredible that feels,” he moans.
His praise urges me on and I wrap my lips around him. He rests a hand on the back of my head, letting me know what he wants. He doesn’t have to ask twice. I bob up and down, taking him as far as I can without choking. A growl escapes him from deep in his chest. It’s music to my ears. So much better than what they’re playing downstairs. This song I could never tire of, no matter how often I heard it.
He thrusts his hips forward once and then takes a step back. “Your skilled mouth feels like heaven, but any more and I’ll coming in your mouth. That’s not what I had in mind.”
“What did you have in mind?” I flirt.
“Take off your pants.” He commands while kicking his shoes off and removing his jeans and underwear completely. He’s like a Greek god, chiseled from stone.