Heaven's Ballroom

by Aiden Bates

  Max’s car was a black Mercedes. He led me to it with his fingers clasped tightly around mine. Out of his suit jacket, he was clad in a white dress shirt. A black wool vest. A red tie. I ran my thumb over one of his cufflinks as he guided me. They were silver, emblazoned with roaring lion heads. With his cropped hair and his muscled form, he could’ve been a gangster—if this was the 1940s, anyway. The mob just didn’t dress quite so dapper anymore.

  “What do you do, Max?” I asked as he clicked his key fob. The lights of the Mercedes flashed as it unlocked.

  “During the day? Finance. Right now, though?” He cast a glance back at me, laughing prematurely.

  “Don’t say you’re doing me.” I squeezed his hand a little tighter, echoing his laugh back at him.

  “Mm. Then I won’t. Bad joke.”

  “The worst.”

  My fingers slipped from his for just long enough to realize that my hands were shaking. This wasn’t like me, getting into an expensive car with a strange Alpha. My body knew it, even if my head didn’t want to admit that it was true. He was funny, which helped.

  His hand steadied my fingers as he reached out to catch them again. That helped more.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Passenger side?”

  “No.” He pulled open the driver’s side door and got in, then pulled me in on top of him. “I want you close, Riley.”

  My thighs settled on either side of his hips again. My fingers curled against his chest. “This close enough for you?”

  I smiled. “Almost.”

  He grabbed the lapels of the jacket to pull me closer still. Our lips hovered inches away from each other, dancing around the fact that we had yet to seal this little tryst with a kiss.

  “You do this often?” I asked him, my breath mingling with his. We both smelled faintly like his scotch. It hadn’t evaded me yet that technically, he’d bought me a drink—which was more than Kevin had ever done.

  “Never,” he told me. “You?”

  “Not here at the club,” I told him. “Not with a client. And never in a car.” I laughed. “But if you’re asking if I’m a virgin…”

  “Are you?”

  I closed my eyes. Did I tell him? Or did I lie?

  “Stop asking questions,” I told him, crushing my lips against his.

  He tasted like scotch too. Scotch and mint and bad decisions. The truth lingered between us, passed from the tip of my tongue onto his. It wasn’t something I could say out loud. Not something that I wanted to. Admitting it to Max meant admitting it to myself—that I’d been saving myself all these years for some cheating low-life who couldn’t even save himself for one night. I’d known that Kevin hadn’t been a virgin when I met him. He’d been surprised to find that the same wasn’t true about me.

  Twenty-one years of being a virgin and playing a whore. That ended tonight.

  If Kevin could fuck around with whoever he wanted, then dammit, now that I was rid of him, so could I.

  Max pulled his lips away from mine abruptly, leaving me leaning forward, desperate for his warmth.

  “Are you sure about this, Riley?” he asked.

  His brow was wrinkled with concern when I opened my eyes.

  “Are you?” I shot back at him.

  His arms wrapped around me, cupping my ass. He had strong hands. They squeezed me in a way that made my cock throb and my head spin.

  “You’re in my car, on my lap, in nothing but a suit jacket and a G-string,” he pointed out. “You shouldn’t have to ask me that.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have to ask me either.” I wrapped my fists around his tie, pulling him closer again. “In fact, don’t ask me again.”

  Our second kiss lasted longer than the first. I could feel Max’s hesitation beneath my lips. A tension in his shoulders. He was holding back.

  It only made me kiss him harder. I’d been holding back for twenty-one years. I wasn’t doing that shit anymore tonight. I tugged at his tie, loosening it as he ran his hands up and down my back, stroking me gently. As my fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, he stroked me a little harder.

  Our eyes met as I reached for his belt.

  Just like that, something inside Max snapped. Whatever restraints he’d put on himself fell away like paper streamers on the wind. He grabbed my hip, fingers plucking at the elastic of my G-string, then delved lower to the hardness of my cock, throbbing between us as he pushed the G-string aside.

  He wrapped my cock up in his fist, squeezing tight, and I moaned. Precum pearled at the tip of it, then ran down my shaft as he gave it a pump.

  “Christ,” he swore against my lips. “You want it bad.”

  “More than you know,” I told him, diving in for another kiss.

  My fingers uncovered his own cock with ease. I’d spent enough time at the Ballroom dressing and undressing—myself, others, making quick changes backstage before the next number went on. I might have been a virgin, but I sure as hell didn’t feel the need to act like one.

  “Fuck,” he gasped as I pulled his cock out. He was big enough, I had to wind both sets of my fingers around his thickness to stroke him.

  Fuck was right. I’d only ever seen a cock as big as Max’s in pornos. The closest I’d ever come to feeling one in real life was right there, straddling him in his fancy car. I set about stroking him, enjoying the way I could feel his pulse through the thick veins that ran up and down his shaft.

  Kevin would’ve fucking died if he’d only known where I was right now. He’d told me once that he was nine inches—but now that I was holding what must have been close to ten in my hands, I realized that Kevin had barely been five.

  “God—that’s fucking good. You sure you’ve never done this before?”

  “Stop talking,” I ordered him, leaning forward.

  He moved his knuckles up to his mouth, licking my precum off of them with a shrug. We were both too worked up for niceties. He was hard. So was I. He was no virgin, and my naive imaginings that my first time would be on a bed covered in rose petals on my wedding day had died the second I saw that picture of Kevin with his hand down another man’s pants.

  I wanted Max inside me. Wanted him now. I positioned myself over him, circling the tight pucker of my ass with his tip. I felt his own precum spread around my entrance, further lubricating the heat of my hole.

  “Fuck, you’re wet,” Max growled. “All that honey for me?”

  “I must like you,” I growled back, feeling my wetness coat the head of Max’s cock, slickening it and preparing it for me.

  Hard and fast and rough. That’s how I wanted it. Fuck slow and gentle—I wanted him to ruin me. But as I pressed down on his head, desperate to rid myself of that shred of innocence that had been tying me down and holding me back, a sharp pain shot through me and I cried out.

  Immediately, Max wrapped his arms around me. Held me close.

  “Shh. Stop.” He kissed my cheeks, running his fingers through my hair. “We take this slow or I take you back inside. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ve got you.” His kisses moved to my lips, humid and soft. “But if you want me, you let me lead.”

  I nodded again, letting my body rest against his.

  This time, he was slow as he pressed into me. Gentle. Even the tiniest movement of his cock against my ass sent waves of heat through me, flushing my chest and making my head feel light. Suddenly, something gave. My ass stretched for him, taking just his tip. Max’s hands guided my hips, sinking me down onto him. My lips trembled as he kissed me again and again, soothing me with his lips, and every breath in my lungs came more ragged than the last.

  But it didn’t hurt. Not this time. Fuck—if anything, it was the best thing I’d ever felt. I pulled away from Max’s lips for just long enough to moan in ecstasy, then sought them again like they were my only source of air. He pistoned in and out of me, slowly building up speed until my body felt like it was mere moments away from falling apart altogethe
r—or maybe finally becoming whole.

  “Damn,” Max growled, nipping at my lower lip. “You’re so tight, Riley. So fucking tight.”

  “You’re…god, you’re so big,” I gasped back. “I’m going to…fuck, I think I’m going to come, Max.”

  “Good.” Max raked his fingers through my hair, his hips bucking beneath me while his thumb ran across my nipple. “Good, baby. I want you to come. Come for me—come around my big, thick—”

  “Come with me,” I moaned, digging my fingers into his shoulders. “Come with me, Max—come inside me—”

  “Fuck.” Max hissed in a breath of air, his lips pulling back to reveal gritted teeth. “Don’t fucking tease me like that. Bad idea.”

  “I want it,” I pleaded with him. Taking Max’s cum was suddenly a matter of dire urgency in my mind. The more the heat swelled in my core, the harder and faster he pumped inside of me, the more I wanted it. Needed it. Needed it bad enough that I was willing to beg. “Please, Max—come with me! Fill me up! Please—please, it’s okay—”

  Max’s body tensed suddenly. In an instant, that tension turned kinetic. A growl roared up from his throat as he held me against him, driving his cock deeper and deeper into me. My head felt full of cotton candy and helium. My body, warm and liquid, molten and burning hot from my skin all the way down into my soul.

  Max erupted inside me, thrusting as deep as he could go. I felt wave after wave of his hot, creamy seed flood my insides as his balls tightened and released. My ass throbbed with pleasure, batting me over the head with it and leaving my whole body spasming.

  One moment, we were both moaning. Crying out to the heavens—or at least, to the skylight of Max’s Mercedes. The next, we were silent. Only the sounds of our breathing, heavy and ragged, and the sound of the wind outside the car.

  “God,” I panted, squeezing my arms around him tight. His body was slick with sweat. It beaded down his chest, pooling between his abs, as I rubbed my skin against his. “Fuck. I needed that.”

  A tiny laugh bubbled up from his chest. “So did I.”

  He held me for what felt like hours. No music. No grinding. No clever one-liners or idiotic posturing. Just his strong, thick arms around me. The warmth of his body beneath mine.

  “You need a ride home?” His chest rumbled beneath me as he spoke.

  “No,” I told him. “I’m okay.”

  “I know you are. I asked if you needed a ride.”

  I laughed. A ride home with Max would only turn into a repeat of what had just happened here in his car—and I needed time to clear my head. Time to think. “No. You’re sweet, but I need to go inside. Grab my things. Clock out and everything.”

  “I could wait for you,” he offered.

  I shook my head, pressing a little kiss to the tip of his nose. “No, you go on home. This was…”

  “Don’t say it was fun.”

  “But it was fun,” I insisted. “The most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

  His brow furrowed. “Can I see you again?”

  I leaned back, pulling his jacket off my shoulders and dropping it onto the passenger seat. “Maybe.”

  His eyes narrowed. A cocky smile spread across his lips. “So you do like me, then.”

  “I said maybe, Max. I might.”

  He reached over to the glove compartment, popping it open and pulling out a pen. His thumb ran across my palm before he touched the tip of the ballpoint to my skin, scribbling nine digits there.

  “Just in case the scales tilt in my favor,” he said softly. “Don’t lose it.”

  He curled my fingers over the number and helped me back out of the car. But even as the wind whipped against my shoulders as I made the quick jog back inside, I couldn’t help but feel warm. Maybe it was his cum inside me, hot and slick, making me feel whole again—

  Or maybe it was the way I could feel his eyes on me until the door closed behind me. Watching me go.

  6

  Max

  The New York wind swept in from the alleyways, blasting me with colder air with every side street I passed. I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my overcoat as I made my way to Rennot’s, running one thumb across my cellphone and then over my wallet.

  It had been three weeks since that night with Riley at The Ballroom. Three agonizing weeks of waiting. Of keeping my phone by the bedside every night when I normally would have switched it off and left it by the door. Of wondering if what I’d done had been right. Of wondering what I’d done wrong.

  He didn’t owe me shit. Just two people in need, coming together to bang one out in the front seat of my Mercedes. I’d gotten the sense that Riley had needed someone that night. He’d practically told me so himself. And me—I’d needed someone too. More than I’d been willing to admit.

  Like most dealings in strip clubs, it had been transactional. That’s what I’d been telling myself. Rebound sex. Nothing more. But if that was true, I should have left it behind me in the parking lot—not driven home with it in the passenger seat. My memories of Riley, eyelashes fluttering and hair turned bronze by moonlight, had crawled into bed with me that night. They hadn’t left since.

  When my phone finally lit up with an unknown number and an invitation to lunch, my heart had skipped a beat then promptly lodged itself in my throat. He’d signed it simply. Two little Xs and an initial—R. I’d debated for a good twenty minutes about whether or not I should sign my response before I’d decided that it didn’t fucking matter.

  He wanted to see me again. It was something.

  Something was a start.

  I found Riley sitting in the back of the cafe. He smiled when he saw me—as did the waiter who was hovering near the table.

  “Thanks for coming,” Riley said as the waiter slipped us our menus.

  “Wouldn’t miss it. I made the reservations, didn’t I?”

  “About that.” Riley watched the waiter walk out of earshot. “I think the wait staff took one look at what I was wearing and decided I couldn’t afford this place.”

  Glancing at Riley’s outfit—a Bruce Springsteen t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans—I sighed. He was out of place amongst all the suits and ties that generally frequented Rennot’s at lunchtime, sure, but that was no reason to be a snob. “Sorry. Guess that’s why they waited to give us the menus until I showed up.”

  “Guess so.”

  “For what it’s worth, you look great.” Great was an understatement. He’d looked great on that night that I’d first met him. Now, he was fucking glowing. “If I’m being honest, I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  “That makes two of us,” he said with a tense laugh. “Sorry—I think I felt a little embarrassed about the way I acted that night. I was…unhinged.”

  “I like you unhinged.”

  “Yeah. Well…I guess, I’m just sorry in general. It was unprofessional of me.” A pink flush rose to his cheeks as he stared down at the menu. “How hungry are you?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Riley?”

  “No—no, not at all. I’m starving, though. Wanna split an app? The spinach artichoke dip looks great, but I’m also eying the baked brie…”

  I snagged the waiter by the elbow as he passed our table and ordered both.

  “Oh,” Riley said softly. “Max…that’s too much…”

  “No such thing,” I told him. “Fancy a drink to wash it down? They’ve got a great champagne here…”

  The waiter raised his eyebrow expectantly, pen at ready.

  “Just water for me, thanks.” Riley gave the waiter a little nod and the man meandered away again.

  “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” I asked again. I couldn’t put my thumb on it yet, but something seemed off.

  “Maybe you just don’t like me as much when I have so many clothes on,” he teased quietly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I nodded at his shirt. “I like looking at Bruce Springsteen’s ass almost as much as I liked looking at yours.”

  He
smiled. “It’s a pretty nice ass.”

  “And Bruce’s isn’t half bad either.” I echoed his grin.

  It was strange seeing him like this. There was a tension in his shoulders. A reluctance to his smile. When he laughed, it seemed like his heart was only half into it. Not that my jokes were that funny—but it hurt to see him forcing it.

  Shit. Maybe I really had done something wrong.

  At least he seemed to perk up a bit when the appetizers arrived. I’d never seen anyone dig into melted brie with such gusto. He’d eaten half of it before he realized that I hadn’t even reached for my knife.

  “God. Fuck. Sorry.” He slid the brie toward me, blushing harder.

  I slid it right back to him. “No need. They feeding you over there at the Ballroom?”

  “Please. After the tip you gave me the other night, I’ve been eating like royalty.”

  “I gave you more than just the tip, if my memory serves me right.”

  He laughed. “And I liked it. Believe me. I’ve just been having the weirdest—” He paused, looking startled, then became overly interested in the spinach dip. “The weirdest cravings lately.”

  “Cravings, huh?” I leaned forward, determined to ease whatever was bothering him. To draw him back in. “Cravings like what?”

  He shook his head, refusing to meet my eyes. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  He went to lean back, but before he could, I reached across the table and caught him by the hand.

  “Riley. Come on.” I ran my thumb across his knuckles, climbing and descending each ridge. “If you don’t want to fuck me again, that’s fine. I’m okay with that. But I’m assuming you wanted to meet for lunch for a reason. I agreed for a reason. You’re charming. You’re clever. I like you. If you just want to be friends, that’s fine. We’ll be friends.”

  “That’s not it, Max.”

  “Yeah? What is it, then?”

  “I’m pregnant.” He blurted the words out hard and fast, like they couldn’t escape his mouth quickly enough. Only, once they were out, his hand twitched beneath mine like he was desperate to clap it over his mouth.