Page 35 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

We Don’t Have To Take Our Clothes Off

Chance

We step up to the front desk of the motel, the small lobby warm with soft golden lighting and the lingering scent of sea salt and old wood. The woman behind the counter offers us a bright smile as she taps on her keyboard.

“Welcome to The Breezy Inn. How can I help you gentlemen tonight?”

“Hi, um, we don’t have a reservation, this was kind of last minute, but we need a room with two beds for two nights,” I say, giving her my name. She types for a moment before her eyes flick up at us, apologetic.

“So, here’s the thing,” she says. “Even though it’s January, we’re pretty booked up for the weekend, and all we have left are rooms with one king bed.”

I look over at Ant. “Oh, okay. Do you recommend anywhere else—”

“It… it’s okay. We’ll take it,” Ant blurts out, cutting me off. His voice is tight, his fingers fidgeting against the edge of the counter.

I blink at him.

He’s nervous, but he’s choosing this.

Oh, I’m so fucked.

We get checked-in, get our key, and head down the hallway to our room. When I push the door open, I nearly snort at the decor. The walls are adorned with pastel seashell prints, the furniture a tacky mix of wicker and navy-blue cushions.

“Oh. My. Fucking God,” I say, dropping my bag on the chair. “This place is one Hawaiian print curtain away from being Frank’s wet dream.”

Ant cracks-up, shaking his head as he sets his bag by the dresser. “Shut up, at least it seems clean.”

I stretch my arms over my head. “Fine, but I’m starving. Feed me, Beautiful.”

Ant snaps his head my way and gives me a look that, if I’m not mistaken, is laced with lust.

“I want to take you to Bluewater Grill,” he says, shaking off whatever that was, and pulling out his phone. “It’s right on the water. Best seafood in Newport.”

“Alright then. Let’s go. Let’s call a car so we can both drink.”

We both change into nice jeans, and when Ant steps out of the bathroom in a skintight black T-shirt, my jaw drops. It hugs his chest and arms in a way that should be illegal. He’s never worn anything like that in front of me.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just thinking I might need a bib to keep from drooling on myself all night.”

Ant rolls his eyes, but he’s pink at the ears.

“They’ll give you a bib when they bring out your lobster. Let’s go, Sullivan.”

Dinner is incredible. We split lobster and crab, swapping bites between plates, and I’m obnoxiously moaning at how good everything tastes. Ant looks relaxed, more himself than I think I’ve ever seen him, and it makes me happy that I decided to spontaneously spring this trip on him.

“So,” he says, pushing the last bit of crab toward me. “I looked up some gay bars in Costa Mesa. There’s one called STRUT that looks like fun.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? You wanna go tonight?”

Ant nods, fiddling with his napkin. “Yeah. I’d like to do it tonight, so I don’t overthink it and chicken out. I’ve never been.”

A devious smile creeps across my lips. “Well, alright then, gay club virgin. Let’s go pop your cherry.”

STRUT is alive with color and energy. The music pulses through the space, the dance floor a vibrant sea of people moving freely, unapologetically themselves.

At the bar, Ant orders us tequila shots, slamming the first one and immediately ordering another. Then another.

I keep up, but I watch him carefully, making sure he’s not drinking out of nerves alone. His excitement reassures me, though.

We weave through the thrumming crowd, drinks in hand, until we find a small, round cocktail table near the edge of the dance floor.

The air is thick with heat, liquor, and the unmistakable scent of sexual freedom.

This is a place where people come to let go, to exist as their true selves without fear or judgment.

I take a long sip of my drink and watch as Ant soaks it all in.

His wide hazel eyes flit across the club, taking in every radiant, unapologetic person around him.

A couple locked in a slow, erotic grind, their foreheads pressed together.

A group of men in harnesses and mesh shirts laughing and clinking shots.

A glamorous twink in a sequined jumpsuit twirling on the dance floor like the world is theirs to command.

There’senchantmentin Ant’s expression as he watches, a quiet kind of awe that moves me. He’s seeing this for the first time. People completely unguarded, fully themselves,freein a way he’s never let himself be.

“You good?” I ask, nudging his arm with my elbow. He nods slowly, his lips parting slightly before he closes them again.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “This is… this is really something.” His eyes are still wide with awe, drinking in the vibrant energy of the club.

Before I can prod him to expand on his thoughts, a tall, stunning drag queen in a form-fitting emerald gown strides up to our table and gasps dramatically, literally clutching her pearls. “My, my, my,” she purrs, eyes landing on Ant. “Aren’t you a beautiful one?”

I grin, peering over at Ant. “Right? See, Beautiful? Everyone knows it.”

Ant ducks his head, but the pink creeping up his cheeks can’t escape the club lights. Before he can retort, the queen turns her attention to me, her long lashes fluttering as she scans me up and down.

“And you,” she says, placing a manicured hand on my arm and giving it an appreciative stroke, “you say that as if you’re not a walking smoke show dripping in ink and sex yourself.”

I’m about to thank her for the compliment when there’s a sharp thud as Ant’s drink hits the table with more force than necessary. My eyes flick to his face, where I catch the way his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, and… is he baring his teeth? Holy shit. What is happening?

The queen smirks, catching the same thing I did. “Well, well,” she drawls, her lips curling mischievously. “Welcome to the club, boys. Name’s Anita. Anita Dicking.”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “Of course it is.”

Anita winks. “So,” she continues, placing a hand on her hip, “you boys together?”

I open my mouth, but before I can get a single syllable out, Ant cuts in.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “And we’re having quality time.”

I blink. My brain screeches to a halt.

Anita lets out an amused cackle, her gaze flitting between us. “Ooh, you got a sassy one, huh?” she asks, leveling her eyes on me.

I shake off my shock and smirk. “Not usually, but I think tequila is doing some of the talking tonight.”

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” Anita says, wagging her finger. “This one’s true nature is sassy. He’s just starting to let it out to play.” She gives Ant a wink then turns back to me. “You’ve got your hands full.”

“Oh, I know I do,” I mutter under my breath, watching the way Ant’s chest rises and falls a little faster than before.

His fingers grip the edge of the table and there’s a flicker of something wild in his eyes.

I barely have time to process any of it before Anita gives us a little wave. “Have fun tonight, boys.”

Then, just as I turn toward Ant, intending to ask what that was all about, the opening synth of “Into the Groove” blasts through the speakers.

Ant’s entire face lights up like a damn Christmas tree. He jumps up and down like an excited kid, then grabs my wrist, eyes burning with exhilaration. “Oh my God,” he exclaims, his grip tightening. “I’ve always wanted to dance to this song in a club! I’ve never heard it at the straight bars!”

Before I can protest, or recover from the way he just claimed me in front of Anita Dicking, Ant is dragging me onto the dance floor.

I groan as I’m reminded how well this man can dance. He moves like he was born for it—hips rolling, body fluid, in perfect sync with the music. My eyes are devouring him. Other guys are watching too; their own eyes filled with hunger. A fire rises in me—protective and possessive.

Stay the fuck back. Let him have this moment.

Then, the DJ morphs the song into Hot Thing by Prince.

I groan again. Jesus, this song is too fucking erotic. Suddenly—Ant’s gone.

Panic grips me for a split second before I feel strong arms snake around me from behind. I don’t even have to turn—I know it’s him. Even if his familiar mix of spicy cologne and natural scent weren’t already invading my senses, I’d still know.

His lips graze my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “I don’t want our first kiss to be tequila-fueled or to happen in a club,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth. “But I do want to have a little fun with you on the dance floor. That is, if you’re up for it.”

My brain scrambles.

Complete system failure.

Spinning wheel of death.

I turn my head just enough so he can hear me. “What kind of fun?”

He answers by gripping my hips and yanking me back—fast and hard—until my ass is flush against his groin.

“You brought me here, got me tipsy, and now you’re just standing there,” he growls. His fingers tighten against me. “Dance with me, Sullivan.”

Then he grinds against me.

Holy fuck.

His body is a livewire against mine.

In a flash, he spins around my body so he’s pressing against me from the front. His hands find a home on my hips, and he slots one of his muscular thighs between my legs. My cock is thickening rapidly against his thigh. Either he doesn’t notice… or doesn’t care.

Then, in one sexy, erotic move, he’s spun himself around and has popped his ass back, flush with my crotch. Now I know he can feel that. Doesn’t seem to be deterring him as he gyrates his ass against my rock-hard cock.

He dances himself around my body, pressing his chest against my back again. Then—with apparently zero regard for my wellbeing—Ant starts to grind against my ass. And he’s… he’s hard. There’s no mistaking it with that monster.

This is it. This is how I die.

Just when I’m about to medically code-out, he dances back around and his hands glide up my chest to clasp my neck, then thread into my hair, pulling me closer.

He leans into my ear again, his voice a whisper of fire. “Touch me... please.” Then grabs my hand and places it on his massive fucking dick.

I lied. This is how I die.

Ant moves, pressing against me, his cheek nuzzled against my neck as I run my palm up and down his cock to the rhythm. The grip he has on the back of my head tightens. His rhythm is faltering. Then his head falls back, neck exposed, body trembling—

Warmth and wetness spreads across my palm.

I freeze. My breathing stalls.He just came in his pants in the middle of the club.

His head snaps forward, locking eyes with mine, and he justsmiles. The little shit smiles.

Did that seriously just happen?

“You’re killing me, Beautiful. You know that?”

Ant raises a brow. “Just a little taste of your own medicine.”

My jaw drops. “Go in the bathroom and try to clean up a little. I’ll order our ride back. We have a full day ahead of us tomorrow.”

He winks, spins on his heels and disappears through the crowd.

Fuck. Me.

Ant is loose during the ride back. He’s singing along to the songs playing and chatting with the driver.

I just gawk at him. Whether fueled by tequila or the freeing environment of a queer club, he’s been completely uninhibited tonight.

Walls nowhere to be found. I want that for him every day, fueled only by self-confidence.

Back at the motel, I strip to my boxers and pop into the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I step back out, Ant is already sprawled across the bed, face down, his perky ass on full display in baby blue boxer briefs.

I cannot survive this sleeping arrangement.

I kneel on the bed, shifting him under the covers before turning off the lights and crawling in beside him. I settle flat on my back and stare at the ceiling, willing myself to sleep.

Not a minute later, he shifts.

He rolls onto his back, reaches out, grabs my wrist, and pulls me onto my side. Then he rolls back onto his side, tucking my arm against his chest, our bodies flush against each other.

There, in the darkness of the motel room, in the softest whisper, I barely hear him say it—

“Mine.”

And it’s in that moment, I know—my heart will never belong to anyone else.