He let go and slid a card from his wallet. “I’m gonna get a room. You want anything from the bar before we—”
“I’m good.”
Mickey nodded and turned to the bar, beckoning the server who’d run his mouth about Benito’s cruising habits. Ten minutes ago, Benito had wanted to punch his pretty face. Now he couldn’t find the headspace to care. He could only watch, breath jammed, as Mickey leaned over the bar and swiped the keycard from the bartender’s hand, then stood when Mickey turned to him with an open smirk. “After you.”
Benito rolled his eyes and strode across the club, ignoring the mess of people spilling out of the alcoves and booths. He liked the heady sounds of a fuck pit, but he’d learned a while back that he wasn’t much of a voyeur.“You’re shy,”one hook-up had told him.“You have no idea how hot that is.”
Still didn’t. Benito had banged that dude seven ways from Sunday. How the fuck did that make him shy?
They left the club behind and climbed the stairs to the handful of rooms on the second floor. Benito’s nerves jangled with every step. He’d made the trip before, but it had been a while, and Mickey wasn’t like anyone he’d ever fucked before. For starters, he was light years hotter. But there was something else. His gaze, perhaps, the way it seemed to drill holes in Benito’s brain and give voice to a fantasy he’d never known existed.
Mickey stopped at the third door in the dimly lit corridor. He unlocked the room and stepped back to wave Benito inside.
More nerves dug jagged claws into Benito’s chest.
He swallowed them down and slipped into a room that was set up like the hotel rooms he’d hidden out in when his old life had first come crashing down. A double bed and a tiny bathroom. Pink-bulbed lamps and a stack of towels. There was an industrial style cabinet at the side of the bed. Mickey went to it and crouched down, rummaging through the shelves before he came up with condoms, lube, and a small metal bottle.
Benito leaned against the door, tracking his every move, soaking up Mickey’s muscled back and strong shoulders. His elegant neck, and the light brown hair that was slightly shorter at the sides and longer on top. He was wearing dark jeans like Benito, and a black shirt. On his feet, battered Vans softened the look, but Benito was hooked on his big hands and how they’d feel on his heated skin. He’d already had a taste—he wanted more.
Mickey set the metal bottle on the bedside table and tossed the rest of the supplies on the bed. He turned to face Benito and arched an eyebrow. He didn’t speak, but the challenge in his gaze was clear.You ready?
Benito stepped forward.Yes.
A heartbeat passed.
A snatched breath.
Then everything changed. Mickey closed the distance between them and shoved Benito back, propelling him into the door. The impact was loud, and jarring, and sent heat rocketing through Benito’s body from his scalp to his groin, to the tips of his toes. For a moment, instinct told him to stay still. To wait for Mickey and take whatever he brought to the table.
But Mickey didn’t come. He stood, arms spread, a tiny snarl curling his lips.
Hewaited.
For Benito to bite back.
And ohman.It wason.
Heart in his throat, Benito pushed off the door and tackled Mickey, hard bodies coming together with a brutal thump. Mickey staggered, and Benito thought he might fall and it would be over before it began, but Mickey caught himself at the last second, a low sound rumbling from his chest. “Yeah. This is what I like.”
Benito liked it too. Long months of rage-laced frustration bubbled to the surface, tempered only by the growing desire in his veins. Mickey went for a leg sweep. Benito blocked and threw him back, separating them for a split second before he lunged again, unable to keep his hands to himself.
Clothes disappeared, wrenched free and tossed aside. Chest bare, Mickey was every bit as strong as he’d first appeared, his cut torso covered in tattoos that made no sense, his arms corded with sinewy muscle. Without his smart clothes, danger seeped from him, the kind Benito recognised, but his brain was too clouded with heat to think clearly.
He took a breath and found himself against the door again, Mickey crowding him, jeans undone, the bulge beneath a hard mass against Benito’s leg.
Mickey braced his forearms on the door, either side of Benito’s head. “You’re good.” He shifted and ground his arousal into Benito’s. “Better than I imagined.”
“Yeah?” Benito could’ve escaped or fought back, but he didn’t, just for a moment. “When did you imagine it?”
“The second I saw you.”
“Liar. You were so sure I wouldn’t want this.”
“Didn’t stop me pretending you might.”
“It’s not pretending if it’s true.” Benito pressed his hands to Mickey’s chest.Push him off. Keep going.But Mickey’s dick felt too good against his. He couldn’t give it up.
Mickey smirked, perhaps sensing victory.