3
The club was dark leather and sultry electronica. Shadowed booths and alcoves. The perfect locations for semi-public hook-ups or a staging ground for something more secluded. Mickey Larwood bypassed the tangled bodies and threaded his way to the bar. He’d already dodged two propositions from men hot enough to warrant a second look, but neither had been what he was looking for. That rare thing that made Mickey’s blood sing loud enough to coax him to a booth or a private room upstairs.
It didn’t help that he had no clear picture in his own mind. He never knew what he wanted until he saw it. Felt it.Cravedit. Most nights he came to Freefall, he was content to sip his spiced rum in peace, casting a lazy eye over the heady show before him, imagining what he’d do to the man of his dirtiest fantasies. It was a fun way to spend an evening, but Mickey hadn’t given up hoping he’d have more than his imagination for company tonight.
There was something in the air, he could taste it, and it excited him far more than the poison he’d worked hard to leave behind.
He found a stool at the bar and sank onto it, ordering a large Kraken with ice and lime. Jaiden, the barman, tipped him a wink, as always, the unspoken invitation clear.
Mickey shook his head. “No, thanks, man. I’m just drinking tonight.”
“Can’t blame me for trying.” Jaiden rested his elbows on the bar. “You’ll change your mind one day.”
“That right?”
“Nope. Not in a million years, but I like making you squirm.”
“You’re a true friend.”
“I’m your only friend.”
“Not true,” Mickey refuted. “And we’re not friends. I’ve never seen you outside of these walls.”
“If walls could talk.”
Jaiden winked again, then sauntered away to serve someone else.
Mickey watched him go, rolling his eyes. On paper, they were a good fit. Jaiden was tall and strong, but in bed—or at least on it—he was too easy. Too pliant. Too willing to give Mickey what he wanted without the roughness Mickey craved. A good fuck was a good fuck, but Mickey could find that anywhere. He came to Freefall for something else. Something better than the hit of coke to his veins.
Something fucking magical.
Don’t think about coke.
Mickey drank his rum, watching men come and go from the bar. A few acknowledged him, but he ignored them all as the night closed in. He ordered his last drink and turned back to the club. The music was louder now, and the density of bodies tangled together was deeper. In some corners, he couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. Skin and limbs. Pants and moans.
It was hot, but not enough to hold Mickey’s attention indefinitely.Call it a night. Go home. But going home meant being alone, and he was too twitchy for that. A difficult day had left him wired for a long night. Fuck it. Maybe he would hook up with Jaiden. It wasn’t like the one time they’d done it had been bad. Far from it. Where was the harm? Whatever happened, it was better than letting his darkestcravings suck him dry.
As the thought crossed Mickey’s mind, his gaze fell on a lone figure at the other end of the bar. The man was tall, dark, and broad-shouldered, with a jaw that hadn’t seen a razor in weeks. He wore black jeans and a smart white shirt rolled up at the sleeves to reveal tattooed forearms and an expensive watch.
Mickey couldn’t see his face, but his body already called to him. He downed his rum and pushed the empty glass across the bar.
Jaiden caught it and shook his head. “You’re wasting your time with that one. He’s even pickier than you are.”
“How so?”
“He doesn’t even watch what goes on down here, and I’ve only seen him go upstairs, like, twice.”
“Yeah, well. You don’t work every night.”
“Whatever.” Jaiden rolled his eyes.
Mickey ignored him and slid off his stool. It was late enough for it to be possible the man had already got what he’d come for and was having a drink before he went home, but as Mickey drew closer, the man didn’t look like he’d rolled out of a recent hook-up. No messy hair or flushed skin. No hooded eyes or wrinkled clothes.
Yet.
Mickey eyed the vacant stool next to him, but as it happened, the man saw him coming and nodded. Another rum appeared on the bar. Mickey sent Jaiden a silent thanks and claimed his place next to the dark-haired stranger.
In fact, everything about the man was dark: his hair, his gaze, the ink on his arms. Even the shadows beneath his eyes. He had high cheekbones, too, and a full mouth that would look good stretched wide in a smile, but he didn’t seem the type. Or, actually, the type to give Mickey what he wanted either, but he’d reached the point where a man’s simple company was enough.