His Innocent Angel (Heaven's Ballroom Book 1)

by Aiden Bates

“Foster!” Riley blinked in surprise. “Foster—this is Max. Max Griffin. You’ve probably heard about him a little bit by now.” His cheeks were flushed as he made the introductions. “Max, this is Foster Collins. He’s the owner of Heaven’s Ballroom—my boss.”

  “Maybe not for much longer, though,” Foster said with a knowing smile. “Sounds like you might be stealing Riley away from us for good, Mr. Griffin.”

  “I’d like to.”

  Riley giggled softly. “You just might.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Collins?” I turned to face him fully on my stool, leaning back against the bar behind me.

  Foster straightened the lapels on his suit. “Seems like I owe you my gratitude, is all. From what Blake has told me, you’ve earned it.”

  “It was nothing,” I said, waving the thanks away. “More than worth the effort.”

  “You often spend your time cracking the heads of unruly drunks, Mr. Griffin? Or was tonight a one-time-only kind of show?” His smile turned apologetic. “Blake also mentioned you might be in need of a new job. We can always use another capable bouncer at our gates.”

  “Afraid I’m not much of a St. Peter type,” I said with a shrug. “More of a finance man, really. But don’t go worrying about me—like I said. It was a pleasure. Something will turn up.”

  “Finance, huh?” Foster reached into his suit jacket, producing a wallet. Fuck—I really hoped he wasn’t going to try to pay me for my troubles. I’d cracked Hayward’s face as a matter of honor. Not because I expected to make a payday out of it.

  To my relief, Foster produced a business card in lieu of cash.

  “Ever heard of Don Sterling?” he asked, passing me the card. “You seem like the kind of man he’d like to have playing on his team.”

  “Heard of him?” I laughed. Don Sterling was the real deal—not a blowhard like Hayward. He had his pick of the top graduates of every business school in the region. Definitely not the kind of man who’d ever hire an uneducated jackass like me. “His boys and I have been batting clients back and forth ever since I got in the game. Trust me—thanks for the offer, but he’s not gonna be interested.”

  I tried to pass the card back to him, but Foster only shook his head.

  “Don’t underestimate Don. I think he’d like your style.” A wicked smile spread across Foster’s lips. “Mention to him that you dropped Malcolm Hayward like a sack of potatoes the way you did and he’s likely to kiss you on the spot.”

  Riley cringed. “God, I hope not. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Max—but I’m the jealous type.”

  “I’ll keep him in mind,” I promised Foster, tucking the card into my pocket. “But if you wanted to pass along to him that we can skip the hanky-panky, I’d be appreciative.” I glanced over at Riley, squeezing his fingers tight. “I’m kind of a one man kind of man. Dance card’s all full up.”

  Foster laughed. “I’ll mention it to him. Take care of this one, okay?” He ruffled Riley’s hair, a look of faux annoyance in his eyes. “He’s going to be a pain in the ass to replace.”

  “I intend to.” I offered Foster my hand and he shook it. He had a firm handshake for an Omega—but I was much happier as he drifted back off into his club and I could return to the matter of holding Riley’s hands instead.

  “So what now?” Riley asked, biting his lip.

  I inclined my head toward the door. “I don’t have a Mercedes in the parking lot this time—but if we slip out the back, maybe you’d be interested in a cab ride?”

  Riley gave me a slow grin. “Your place or mine?”

  “Our place, Riley. If you’ll have me.”

  He sighed, bowing his head slightly, then nodding it.

  “I’ll have you all right, Mr. Griffin. Consider yourself absolved for now.”

  “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  His grin widened. “It might.”

  17

  Riley

  I didn’t know how long I could wait to feel Max’s hands on my body again, but I thought I’d at least have been able to make it back to his place. It wasn’t exactly a long ride. Six or seven blocks at most.

  New York traffic, though—it had a way of prolonging even the shortest of cab rides. It would’ve been faster walking, really. But that wouldn’t have given me my chance to reach out across the backseat, quick as a viper strike, and slip my fingers beneath Max’s belt.

  “So you do forgive me.” He grinned as I pulled him closer to me with a hard yank, until maybe only an inch was left between us. He was taller than me, even just while sitting. It was enough that I had to tilt my head back to look him in the eye.

  “I told you I did, didn’t I?” The skin of his stomach was hot on the back of my knuckles. My eyes rose to his lips, and I considered claiming them. Decided against it, though. I wanted him, but I still wanted him to sweat things out a little longer, too. My mother had once said good things came to those who wait.

  But then again, if I’d taken that advice, Max and I might not have ever ended up together in the first place.

  I chuckled, a rush of hot breath on Max’s neck.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I laughed again. “I can’t decide whether I should kiss you for saving me or smack you for following me in the first place.”

  He smirked. “You can always try both. See which one you like better.”

  “No,” I purred, leaning in and nibbling his earlobe. “I think I already know the answer to that.”

  Max sighed. “All right, smack me then—but if you think that this is going to turn into some kind of Fifty Shades of Grey thing, then—”

  The consequences of turning into Christian Grey on Max, I’d never learn. I shut him up with a kiss, crushing my lips against his before he could utter another word.

  He tasted like ice water, cool and crisp. Like bad fortune mixed with the best of intentions. Max’s hands fumbled before landing on my hips. He slid them upward, his palms on the bare flesh of my abdomen.

  “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed against my lips.

  When he kissed me again, it was hard. Unrelenting. I gave it back to him with twice the force. Hard enough for our lips to bruise. When he went into Don Sterling’s office later that week, his mouth would be all black and blue from kisses like those. The boys at Sterling Enterprises would tease him about trying on my stage makeup—but I liked the idea of that kind of claiming. Showboating. Making it clear to everyone who saw him for the rest of the week that Max Griffin was mine.

  Hell—if I had it my way, I’d claim him like that for the rest of my life.

  “What changed your mind?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity as I tried to tug his belt off in the back of our cab.

  I laughed. “Maybe I just really like seeing you break other men’s noses.”

  “Mm. So that’s what does it for you. Watching me do violence unto bad men, huh?” He rested his forehead against mine. “I’ll have to keep a gallery of rogues in my back pocket for the next time I fuck up then, I guess.”

  “Just like Batman.” I nipped at his lower lip, feeling the way it curled beneath my teeth in a grin he couldn’t seem to chase away.

  “Just like Batman,” he agreed, his hands climbing beneath my shirt.

  I could feel the short curled hairs on his stomach against the back of my knuckles, his belt still in-hand. My other hand climbed over his shoulder and wound itself behind his neck, grabbing his head and driving yet another kiss. Our tongues were swirling, hips grinding. There was a hunger between us now, one that I’d been afraid just a few hours ago I’d never feel again.

  At Heaven’s, I might have been an angel, but here with Max I was certainly no saint. I drew the feeling out, tasting it, relishing its urgency. Its warmth.

  “Christ,” Max rasped. “The things I’d like to do to you…”

  But, before whatever Max had planned could be put into action, the car came to a sudden stop and his head bounced off the back of the passenger s
eat.

  “Stop fucking in my cab,” the driver barked gruffly.

  Max and I shared a glance and exploded into laughter, the kind that took over the whole body and made my cheeks ache.

  I laughed at the driver as I kissed Max’s brow. “Oh, honey. If we were fucking, you’d know.”

  Somehow, we made it all the way up to Max’s penthouse without sealing the deal—but by the time we stumbled out of the elevator and through his front door, we were half undressed already. Our shirts, socks and shoes wound up scattered in a trail to the bedroom, abandoned across his hardwood floors, until we were collapsing onto his bed in nothing but our pants.

  I hissed in a breath between my teeth as Max’s lips traced a path down my neck toward my collarbone. The breath shuddered and shuttered as Max’s teeth scraped against my skin, drawing out a moan. But as my own hands pulled at his belt again, the button of his slacks, Max pulled back and stared at me.

  Why?

  I didn’t have a fucking clue.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him, feeling the rise and fall of my chest come a little tighter with anticipation. Men didn’t usually stop and stare in the middle of foreplay—at least, not as far as I could tell from my small amount of experience with Max and the stories that the guys at the club told. Not unless they were about to come too soon and were trying to think about baseball, anyway.

  “You’re gorgeous,” Max said softly, brushing his fingers against my cheek. “I can’t believe you’re really mine.”

  I breathed out a sigh of relief, closing my eyes. “That’s right. I’m yours.” I sank deeper into the plushness of the bed for a moment, relishing the way it felt to be beneath him like this. The weight of his body on top of mine and the gentle kiss of his fingers on my skin.

  Then, I gave him a wolfish smile and rolled us both over. Things between us had started with me on top. I didn’t see any reason to change what so obviously worked.

  “There,” I told him, placing a delicate kiss on his Adam’s apple, a kiss so small and light it might’ve seemed innocent if not for the fact I was tearing his pants off him like my life depended on it. “Now you can stare all you like.”

  His cock was hard and hot as it sprang from his boxers. I took it in my fist, pulling a moan from his lips that felt equal to Bach. Mozart. To Bruce Springsteen roaring into a microphone about being born in the USA. He stared at me as I did it—then, with a few firm strokes of my hand, his eyes rolled back in his head until he closed them completely.

  Now it was my turn to stare.

  I took him in, all of him. From the way his skin pebbled as my fingers raked down his chest to the small, circular revolutions his hips made every time I pulled back, instinctively searching for a little more pleasure. He was a glutton—and as it turned out, I liked that in a man. I added another hand to my work, first cupping his balls in my palm then stacking my fists one atop the other, clinging to his shaft and slipping to my knees on the floor. I pumped him quicker, leaving near translucent trails of precum on my knuckles where the tip of his cock brushed against them.

  “Fuck,” Max growled, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “Suck me, Riley. Give me your mouth.”

  I licked my lips like I was about to eat a Michelin Star meal.

  “Keep talking,” I urged him.

  Heat was already coiling around my own cock, rendering it stiff and aching as it strained against my jeans. I raised his cock up until the tip was pressed to my lips, offering him a slow, teasing, romantic kiss, before taking him into my mouth, licking and sucking and swirling my tongue around the head until I’d lubricated him into a lather. Then, with a coy wink that felt more like something that Anders would do, I took him into my throat.

  It was a struggle. There was a lot of him, after all, and gagging wasn’t avoidable at his size. But instead of retreating, backing off like a sensible person, I made a show of it. Going forward, gagging, and then going forward some more.

  “Goddamn,” Max gasped. “Your throat—fuck. So fucking good—”

  I formed a seal around Max’s cock, air tight, and fucking vacuumed him. My throat muscles convulsed around his length, squeezing his cock like it was my own ass working up and down Max’s shaft instead.

  I didn’t free my throat until I had no choice but to come up for air. My tongue swirled around his tip like it was an ice cream cone on a hot summer before breaking the air-tight seal with a pop.

  “Fuck. Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

  “Jealous?” I teased, then shrugged. “You’d be surprised at everything I picked up listening into everyone else’s dirty stories in the dressing room, honey.”

  He gritted his teeth as he pulled me back up onto his lap, my thighs squeezing against his hips. “Remind me to thank them later.”

  “More pressing matters to attend to right now?” I asked, grinding the bulge in my jeans against his saliva-soaked cock.

  “Pressing…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  He rolled me again, drawing a trill of laughter from my throat. Max had me pinned as he tugged my jeans off me, taking my boxers with them. His cock rested against the little valley between my hip and my pelvis, brushing against my own dick with a healthy throb. There wasn’t any technical pleasure to be had just rubbing our dicks together like this—but fuck, it felt good just the same. Primal. Animalistic. I’d been a virgin for too long before I met Max—and now everything, experimental or not, felt like an awakening that had been bottled up in my core until he shook it so hard, the pressure blew the top right off.

  He took my thighs in his hands, caressing them as he spread them apart. My body both wanted to tense up and melt into a puddle as he settled his tip against my ass, rimming my hole with his precum and my own saliva. My arms wrapped around his neck, urging him in.

  I wanted to howl as he entered me, but all that escaped my lips was a hissing breath followed by a whimper. Max’s cock slipped inside me, stretching my ass taut around his thickness as it plunged into my depths. I tensed around him, meeting each of his thrusts with a buck of my own hips, milking him with convulsing flexes that felt entirely out of my control.

  I looked into Max’s eyes as he fucked me, my lips pouted in desperation. He was taking me slow and easy in a way that made my face flush, but the little snarl on his lips and the focus of his brow told me he wasn’t going to be gentle for long. In a sudden burst of roughness, he doubled his pace.

  I didn’t pretend to understand every part of Max. That would come later, over hot cups of herbal tea as we watched a thousand sunrises from his rooftop and candlelit dinners at his table as that same sun lowered beneath the horizon again. We’d been thrown together, spiraling and twisting—our worse halves fighting it, our better halves seeking something in each other that had let us down when we failed to find it in anyone else. I didn’t know the full extent of the darkness that lay behind those icy eyes of his, but I knew I liked him. Loved him, even. I’d meant it the first time I said it, and I meant it when I said it again as he buried his cock so deep inside me I couldn’t imagine a point in time when I’d feel any more whole.

  “I love you,” I cried out, panting as my chest swelled and collapsed. He was getting close. I could tell in his own ragged breath, in every jerk of his hips and in the way his fingers clawed against my shoulders, beaded with sweat. But I was closer. “I love you, Max.”

  “Then come for me. Give it to me, Riley.”

  “Fuck—” My body stiffened, then spasmed, contracting and relaxing at a pace so fast and so far out of my control that it made me dizzy. Heat rushed up and down my nervous system like wildfire.

  In the embers and ashes of my orgasm, Max held me tight, pumping into me with his teeth bared in a snarl.

  “I love you too,” he growled—then he moaned with me, filling me with his seed just like he had on that first night. Only this time, he did it with meaning. With a need that went beyond whatever pain had driven us together.

 
; I belonged to him now.

  I was his.

  And he was mine.

  I twined my fingers with his as he collapsed on top of me, his breathing no less ragged than before. Dragging one hand toward my face, I went tender. Kissed his knuckles, then brought his thumb to my mouth and sucked it like I’d sucked his cock just a few moments before.

  “Fuck—no, none of that. You’ll have me hard again.” He laughed tiredly, tearing the thumb from my mouth to replace it with his lips.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Mm. In a few minutes, no. But for now…just let me enjoy the way this feels.”

  .

  18

  Max

  It was there in the weight of his head on my chest, the humidity of his breath clinging to my chest hairs, bathing me in damp heat.

  “I love you,” I told him. I’d said it more times than I could keep track of that night. I’d say it a hundred more before the night was through.

  He cooed, stirring gently. Riley’s eyes were closed as he looked up at me. When he opened them, it was lazily—as lazy as the smile on his lips.

  “I think I drifted off there for a minute.” He yawned, arching against me, then snuggled in closer. “So tired…”

  “That’s pregnancy for you.” I wrapped my arm a little tighter around him, holding his body as close to mine as I could. “You’ve had a big night.”

  “So have you.”

  I watched his shoulders rise and fall with shallow breaths. If I didn’t keep talking, he’d probably fall asleep again. Part of me wanted to let him. He was sweet when he slept, mumbling nonsense and winding the sheets so tight around his legs that by morning, they were a tangled mess. I didn’t need to trap him here, I realized with a smirk. He trapped himself in my bed with those sheets every night like a merman diving willingly into a fisherman’s net.

  But the other part of me—the part of me that still felt that tinge of guilt for what I’d put him through—that part of me was so full of words that I couldn’t fight it back.