Jesus, I’m bored.
I’ve been in the house
for months, working, creating, and if Nels hadn’t thrown a temper tantrum and
dragged me out to the bar, I’d still be doing it—throwing paint on the canvas
and working out my demons.
But I’m here. I’m here
with my beer, watching Nels dance with some little twink, and I’m waiting for
it to turn nine o’clock so I can grab a car home.
I agreed to an hour.
Nine makes an hour.
Someone sits next to me.
I can feel that he’s a big guy even without looking. He feels solid, like
suddenly there’s a brick wall right there.
I’m not looking. I’m not
interested. I’m just waiting for nine.
So there.
The bartender comes
over. “What’ll it be?”
“Coke, lots of ice,
please.” His voice is like velvet dragging over gravel and it hits me in my
balls.
Oh, damn. I need to pay
my tab and go. Instead, I grin up at him. “Lots of ice?” My eyes go wide.
“Trace? Hey.”
“Hi, Damien.”
I’d forgotten just how
sexy his voice is, how warm his smile.
“I haven’t seen you in a
while.” I haven’t seen anyone in a while. I’ve been hiding.
“No, you haven’t been
around. I was pleased when I walked in and saw you sitting here. Knew I had to
come say hello.”
He’s making me hard just
by talking.
Obviously I’ve been
alone a while. I’ve known Trace forever. There’s never been a spark. “I’ve been
working hard.”
“Too hard. You’ve got
dark bags under your eyes.” He reaches out and gently touches me, right under
my eyes, and it’s like he’s touching an electric wire to me.
“She’s a demanding
mistress.” I am not gasping. I’m not. Nope.
“I know a thing or two
about being demanding,” Trace notes. Have his eyes always been so very green?
And intensely hot. That has to be new, right?
“Do you?” I take another
swig of beer, trying to cool down.
“Yeah, I do. And I think
you know exactly what I mean.” That timbre in his voice, that’s new too. So is
the way he licks the moisture from his upper lip, tongue sliding slowly.
“H-how’s your Coke?” Stop
it. You are not a virgin.
“Nice and cold. Exactly
how I like it. How’s your beer?”
“Piss warm and nasty,” I
admit. “I’ve been nursing it.”
“If you didn’t want it,
why not order something else? A glass of water with ice would take a lot longer
to get warm.”
“I was going to leave at
nine.” A glass of iced water sounds amazing, though.
Trace nods at the
barback, who comes right over. “Ice water, please.” Then he turns back to me,
and I feel really seen. “You shouldn’t have to sip at warm beer for another ten
minutes.”
“Thank you.” That’s—that’s
kind. It feels like a balm, a little. Or maybe a lot.
“It’s the painting,
right? Have you got something in particular riding your ass so hard?” The words
conjure up a naughty image involving Trace and my ass.
“It is. I got demons,
nothing big.” Just…being a worthless shit.
He touches my arm, and
that zap from earlier is back like whoa. “Are you okay, Damien? I mean really.”
I go for casual and
blithe, because no, no I’m not. I’m lonely, and I’m worn, and I’m more than a
little broken.
He’s still staring at
me, touching me, and I realize I haven’t actually said anything yet.
My cheeks heat, and I
hide my face in the water. “I’ll be fine, honey. Thanks for asking.”
“I don’t think you are.
And I want to help.” His tone is gentle, but there’s also a strength there.
“What? Why?” Why on
earth would Trace care?
A wry smile quirks up
one side of Trace’s mouth. “Because I’ve been interested in you since I first
saw you and you’re getting deeper and deeper into your demons.”
“Oh, honey. I—I’m bad
news. You have to know that, right?” I reach out and put my hand on his arm,
and he’s so warm.
“You’re just… driven and
probably a lot lost in what you call your demons. You need a master to take
care of you. To help you… focus.”
“I wish.” But I’ve tried
that. I’ve tried sex. I’ve tried pain. I’ve tried drugs. The only thing that
works is, well, work.
“You could always think
of me as your genie—granting you that wish,” Trace suggests.
He has no idea how
tempting that is.
“I actually like you. I
wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Damien, do you really
have so low an opinion of yourself?” He touches my arm again, and it lights me
up, warms me to the bone.
“I just know me. I’m a
train wreck.” Sad but true.
“Like I said, you need a
master.” He’s still touching me, fingers stroking my arm now, leaving tingles
behind.
“I tried the lifestyle.
I wasn’t good at it. Ask Carlson.” Oh. Probably Trace had. Carlson and I never
even fucked—I let him tie me up, spank me. All I could do was wait for it to be
over.
“Okay, let me rephrase.
You need the right master.” Trace smiled. “I can even refine that. You need
me.”
“Did you talk to him? It
was a bad experience. I wasn’t ugly.” Was it nine? It had to be…
“I haven’t talked to
anyone, Damien. I’ve been observing you. And flirting, but I don’t think I’m
very good at it as you don’t seem to have noticed. I’m better at direct.”
“I—” Okay. Stop this.
Stop this right now. “Do you dance?”
Wait. What?
“I’m no Arthur Miller,
but I enjoy moving to the music.” Trace stands and holds out his hand. “And I
happen to really like this song.”
“I do too.” I take his
hand, and he’s so warm, so tall.
He leads us out into the
dance floor and I can feel Nels shooting me a shocked look.
I glare over. I can
dance, can’t I? Just one? I’m not taken, for fuck’s sake.
Nels makes a face and
turns back to the twink he’s with, but I swear I can feel him cutting glances
at me. It’s none of his business.
“Damien. You’re with me.
Ignore everything else, yeah?”
That’s more than fair.
One dance. Trace deserves that—all of me for a dance. “You’re right. I’d be
happy to.”
I push into his arms,
trusting that he’ll lead. He does, and we move together like we were made for
it. His hands slide down to cup my ass and hold me closer. His fingers are hot,
and it’s easy to relax and lean into the rhythm. God, he’s like a jungle gym.
He hums, and the sound
is not only happy, but it vibrates through his chest and into me.
“That’s nice,” I
whisper. I feel it everywhere, making me shiver.
That makes him hum even
more, and I like it. A lot. “For you,” he whispers back at me.
Maybe we could have a
one-night stand. Maybe…just one orgasm, one night.
Like he can hear my
thoughts, he squeezes my ass in one hand, his fingers digging in through the
thick denim of my jeans.
“Uhn…” My eyes roll up
in my head, and my toes curl. “Damn.”
“Let me take you home,
Damien. We’ll hide you from your demons for the night.”
“One night.” I want to.
I want to just relax and let the world disappear.
“When this song is
over.” Trace continues to move us, our bodies rubbing together, and he’s hard,
cock thick and stiff in his slacks.
I nod, because dancing
tells you how good the sex might be. And the way things are going, the sex is
going to be fucking good.
We keep moving, the
music dictating our speed.
One song slides into
another, and I don’t mind. This is sensual and sexual and right. His body keeps
moving against mine, slowly ramping me up and making me ache.
“We need to go. It’s
been a long time.” And I’m not going to embarrass myself.
“As you wish.” His hands
leave my ass and he takes one of mine, leading me from the dance floor and out
the door.
Nels comes running up.
“Bud? Where are you going, man?”
“I—With Trace.”
Trace slides an arm
around my waist and tugs me into his side. I fit there perfectly. Damn. Like
the space was made for me.
“With Trace, huh?” Nels
rolls his eyes toward me. “You’re cool?”
“I’m cool.” It is a lie.
I’m burning up.
Sean
smut fixes everything
