Page 41 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

TRACK THIRTY · SIX

More Bounce to the Ounce

Chance

Breakfast is a slow, torturous affair, mostly because Ant has decided today is the day he's going to flirt with me like his life depends on it. He knows exactly what he's doing, and he's enjoying every second of my suffering.

I'll never complain.

We eat, and I bask in the way his lips curve as he chews, the way his fingers twirl the fork absentmindedly, the way his eyes flicker with mischief when he catches me staring.

But then, just as I think we're settling into a normal morning rhythm, he leans back in his chair, stretches in a way that should be illegal, and smirks.

“I'll clean up the kitchen, go get that plump, hot ass ready for a day on the town.

You can dress casual for now. We'll come back here to change before dinner.”

I blink at him.

Did he just—?

Ant, completely unbothered, starts stacking plates, humming like he didn't just say something that absolutely fucked my brain.

I turn toward my room, shaking my head in disbelief, when—

Smack.

I stop dead in my tracks.

“Careful, Beautiful,” I warn, looking over my shoulder, but he just grins, wicked and unrepentant.

“God, I've wanted to do that for the longest time, and those pants are perfect for it. I think that thing is still bouncing.”

I bark out a laugh and head to my room before I combust entirely.

Once inside, I strip down, tossing my sleep pants into the hamper, and run a hand through my hair, wondering what the hell Ant has planned for today.

I know him well enough to know he’s been scheming, and considering how much he’s come out of his shell since Christmas—hell, since our road trip—it could be anything.

He’s been opening, unfolding, revealing more of himself to me in ways I don’t think he even realizes. And I couldn’t be happier for him. For us.

Of course, all this patience has given me a severe case of blue balls.

Speaking of, I better take care of myself now, or I’m going to be in pain all day. That is no way to spend a birthday.

Naked, I head into my bathroom suite, start the shower and wait for the water to heat. I look down at my hard dick and apologize.

You’re stuck with me again.

I step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my back as I lather up.

My mind instantly replays the last hour—the weight of Ant’s palm on my ass, the way he looked at me when he did it.

Then my thoughts spiral further back to California—Ant pressing my hand onto his hard cock on the dance floor, his warm body curling into mine in bed, the way he smelled, how solid he felt against me.

Reaching for the lube and a small toy I keep in my shower, I slick up my cock, then coat the toy and two of my fingers.

Propping one leg on the basin ledge, I spread the lube over my hole and start working myself open for the toy.

My other hand wraps around my aching dick, stroking it in slow, deliberate pulls as my mind wanders.

I picture Ant stepping into that motel bathroom, towel dropping before he disappeared inside, revealing that perfect ass. Then my mind shifts to those skin-tight boxer briefs, barely containing his cock beneath.

A sharp gasp leaves my lips as I push the toy in, searching for the spot that makes my vision blur. Working my cock and hole in tandem, my mind comes back to this morning—Ant’s lips brushing my cheek, his whispered promise of finally kissing me tonight.

That thought, paired with the toy hitting its mark, sends me over the edge. My muscles lock up, my head falls back, and I come hard against the shower wall, Ant’s name tumbling from my lips in a wrecked moan.

When I step out of my room, freshly self-fucked, showered and dressed, I hear a knock at the door. I pull it open to see Lexi, a small cake in one hand and a gift bag in the other.

“Happy birthday, bestie!” Lexi exclaims, throwing her arms around me.

I laugh, hugging her back before taking the gift bag she shoves into my hands. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Oh, trust me, I did. Now open it.”

“Open what?” Ant’s voice cuts in as he steps into the room, lookingdelicious and ready for our day.

“His gift,” Lexi says, smirking. “You’re going to love this, Anthony.”

Ant raises a curious brow. “Really?”

Lexi grins. “Just open it already,” she huffs, crossing her arms impatiently.

I reach inside and pull out a tiny black crop top with bold white letters across the chest:

brING BACK THE ‘80s.

I burst out laughing, but then I catch Ant’s facial expression. He’s eyeing the shirt, and I can see the heat in his eyes and the gears turning in his head.

Lexi, blissfully unaware of my impending doom, tosses Ant her keys. “I gotta go study, so I’m going to grab Little G and you boys go enjoy your day. Make sure this one gets spoiled.”

Ant nods. “Oh, I plan to.”

As soon as she’s gone, Little G in tow, I smirk and hold up the shirt. “Don’t worry, Ant. I’ll wear it for you. If you’re a good boy.”

His cheeks go a little pink, but mostly, he just grins. Big. “Oh, I’ll be the goodest boy.”

I snicker, shaking my head. “Alright, you big tease, let's see what you have in store for me. Lead the way.”

He ushers me out the door, and I follow, completely at his mercy, just where I want to be.

We slide into Lexi’s car, and as soon as Ant starts the engine, I turn to him. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

He just grins, shifting into gear. “Nope.”

I huff dramatically. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Correct.”

I watch him as he grips the steering wheel, his biceps flexing against the tight sleeves of the Stevie Nicks concert tee he somehow poured himself into.

At this point, I’m convinced he’s wearing tighter clothes on purpose now.

I'm suddenly very jealous of one Ms. Nicks with her head planted between his big man pecs. It’s downright cruel.

And those thighs—he chose light-wash jeans today, accentuating every curve and muscle. My thoughts go wild, wondering what it would be like to sink between them, unwrap him completely, make sure every memory from before is erased and rewritten with nothing but pleasure.

I shift in my seat, forcing my mind elsewhere. “Alright, answer me this, then: Sammy or David Lee Roth?

Ant smirks. “Sammy. No contest.”

I gasp, clutching my chest. “David Lee Roth is Van Halen.”

“David is showmanship. Sammy is vocals. ”

“Fine. Can we at least agree Steve Perry is the best male rock vocalist of all time?”

Ant nods. “That’s a given. But if we’re talking all pop music, George Michael and Luther Vandross are near the top.”

I tap my chin. “You won’t hear me argue that.”

Half an hour and five music debates later, Ant pulls into a parking garage in downtown Phoenix. As we step out, I glance around, taking in the sights. “I haven’t really had a chance to explore down here.”

“Well, let’s change that.” Ant leads me to a building and opens the door for me. I glance up at the sign and freeze.

Phoenix Art Museum.

My heart melts. “I'd say I can't believe you thought of this, but I’ve learned that you're one of the most thoughtful people I've ever met. This is pretty great, Ant.”

He shrugs, but I can see the pleased smile he’s trying to hide. “Come on. Let's go.”

We wander through the exhibits, and he asks me about different painting styles, genuinely interested in what I have to say, even if my knowledge is mostly amateur.

Near the end of the exhibit, I stop short, eyes locked on a painting—two men embracing, all black and blue hues, tender and raw.

I can’t stop staring. Can’t stop thinking about us.

Ant steps up beside me, his presence warm and steady, taking in the art with me in a quiet, beautiful silence.

Then I feel his fingers slipping into mine.

My breath snags. I think it will every time.

“Is this something you want?” Ant asks softly. “Your paintings on a gallery wall? Your own exhibit?”

I hum thoughtfully. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough for that.”

He squeezes my hand. “Well, you haven’t shown me your paintings yet, but if your drawing is anything to go by, that’s a ticket I’d buy.”

I keep my gaze on the painting, but my voice drops. “You better stop, Beautiful, or I'm going to push you into a supply closet.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his blinding smile.

And damn, what I wouldn’t give to paint that.

When we leave, I thank him again, but he just smirks. “We’re not done, Mister. Back to the car.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m staring in shock as we pull into a parking lot and Ant jockeys into a space. “Holy crap. Is that a giant bounce house world?”

He grins. “Yep. Let’s go work up an appetite.”

We step out of the car, and I’m still in mild shock, staring at the enormous inflatable wonderland spread out before us. I didn’t know things like this existed.

Ant just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching me with the cutest little smirk.

“Oh, it is so going down,” I say, grinning at him. “Come on, Pacini, let's get our bounce on.”

Ant’s eyes drop to my ass, completely unashamed, and he murmurs, “Looking forward to all the bouncing.”

I shake my head, laughing as we head toward the entrance. “You’re just a big flirt now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says easily, flashing me a look that makes me want to drag him back into the car and do terrible, filthy things to him. “And you love it.”

I don't even bother denying it.

After getting our tickets and locking up our shoes, we step into what can only be described as the most ridiculous, over- the-top playground ever created.

Bright colors, obstacle courses, giant slides, and massive inflatable walls surround us.

Laughter and excited screams echo through the space, and for a brief wrinkle in the timeline, I feel like a kid again.

Ant shoots me a devious grin. “Guess we’re about to find out who’s more agile—hockey players or football players.”

“Wait, what—”

Ant takes off before I can finish, sprinting toward an enormous climbing wall, and he’s moving faster than I’ve ever seen him. His physical beauty still surprises me sometimes—football player, sure, but it’s the way his body moves so effortlessly that gets me.

I chase after him, catching up just in time to see him scale the wall like it’s nothing.

“Show-off,” I mutter, grabbing hold of the inflatable grips.

Ant looks down at me, grinning. “Come on, Sullivan. You gonna let me win on your birthday?”

I scowl and haul myself up faster, determined to beat him to the top.

When I do, I throw my hands up in victory, but my celebration is short-lived because Ant straight-up tackles me, and we both go rolling down the other side, tumbling together in a mess of limbs until we land in a heap at the bottom.

I’m breathless from laughing when I feel him roll on top of me. I open my eyes, only to find his beautiful face directly above mine, his hands braced on either side of my head. He’s looking at me with that stupidly soft expression. The one that makes my heart go bah-bump .

I swallow. I don’t speak. Can’t.

Bah-bump .

His lips part slightly.

Bah-bump .

Out of nowhere, a group of kids runs past us, shrieking, and the moment is broken. He clears his throat and climbs to his feet, offering me a hand.

I take it, and he pulls me up easily, his grip lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

For the next hour, we race, tackle, bounce, and act like complete idiots, laughing until we can barely breathe. And now, I’m bent over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath, when Ant checks the time on his phone.

“We better get going so we have time to relax and get dressed,” he says, still slightly winded. “Reservations are at eight.”

I straighten, wiping sweat off my forehead. “There’s more?”

He just grins. “Of course there’s more.”

As we walk toward the exit, I glance at him, feeling this overwhelming warmth spread through my chest. This is already the best birthday I’ve ever had, and I can’t believe he still has more planned.

But beyond that, beyond the fun and the surprises, I realize something else.

There will never be enough time with him.

Every moment I get to be with him feels like a gift.

I can’t wait to have a night out with this beautiful man .