by Aiden Bates
Not that I was going to.
This, I quickly realized, was another ploy on Nathan’s part to make me hot for him. Not that it wasn’t working—just, I didn’t intend on giving in.
“You can’t be serious,” I croaked, swallowing hard.
“Why not? Old study technique. The best way to learn something is to teach it—” He turned, showing off the rippling muscles of his back as he winked at me over his shoulder. “And people learn best with visuals.”
I leaned back, holding my breath and considering it. He wasn’t wrong—I’d heard the advice before. But trying to teach Anders anatomy was like trying to teach a teenage boy about the reproductive system. Sooner or later, everything just turned into another dick joke.
Somehow, I suspected if Nathan decided to remove any more of his clothes, this wouldn’t turn out that much different. Only this time, it wouldn’t be a joke—and I highly doubted I’d be laughing.
“Come on,” Nathan urged, sensing my apprehensiveness. “I won’t bite. Are you a physical therapist or aren’t you?”
I sighed, rising to stand behind him. “Just promise you’ll keep your pants on.”
He snorted. “I’ll do my best. So, teach. Where do we start?”
His skin was warm against my cool fingertips as I hovered over his spine, then ran a touch down its length. He shuddered deliciously, a low growl rising up from his throat.
“Your spinal muscles,” I explained. “The large ones, like your trapezius—” I brushed against the muscle over his shoulder blade— “Attach to your vertebrae. Anchor there. They help keep you stable. Allow other muscles to move.”
“Handy.”
“It is,” I agreed. “Then you’ve got your smaller muscles—your spinalis, for instance—that only connect between vertebrae. Keep the joints in line.” I pressed gently on the muscles along the spine, feeling out the knots that had formed there. “You’ve got shitty posture, you know.”
“Do I?” Instinctively, Nathan straightened. “Don’t tell my etiquette tutor that. He’d have my hide if he found out.”
“You sit a lot for work?” I aligned my thumbs to either side of Nathan’s spine and dug in, moving them along the natural lines of his muscles.
“More than I’d like. Sterling Enterprises manages a lot of big investment accounts. Lots of gawking up at big screens overhead then peering down at little screens on our desks.”
“Mm. I can tell.” I worked my way a little higher up his spine to the back of his neck, enjoying the warmth of his skin there “Semispinalis capitis. Yours is wound tighter than—”
“You?”
I laughed. “I was gonna say tighter than a ten-day clock.”
“They even make those anymore?”
I smirked. “My grandfathers have one in their parlor. Big old beauty. Most expensive thing they owned. Used to help them wind it myself.”
He shrugged, easing his shoulders back as I worked them over beneath my thumbs. “You’re the expert. What do you suggest I do differently, then?”
“Ever heard of a standing desk? Office culture is terrible for posture, and as tall as you are, it’s probably twice as bad for you. Desk probably isn’t the right height to begin with. Screws with your whole system. My professor—she says humans invented the chair out of laziness, but we were never meant to sit in it.”
“Smart professor.” He exhaled slowly. “Fuck, that feels good.”
“It ought to. You’re long overdue for a massage.”
“Guess I’m lucky I met you, huh?” He let out a low moan.
I paused, suddenly backing away from him. The cologne on his skin was faint, but intoxicating. The scent beneath it—pheromones, maybe. Something entirely him—was even better. Which, when it came to keeping my wits about me tonight, made it even worse. I could have worked over every muscle of Nathan’s perfect body and still found myself wishing for more of him to touch.
It was infuriating. It was dangerous.
“I think that’s enough studying for the night,” I said softly, letting my hands fall away from his skin.
“You sure?” He turned, thumbing his belt. “We could always travel a little lower if you needed more…research.”
The way he ran his thumb across the leather, so tantalizingly that for a moment, I was so sure he was the devil incarnate, left my breath still and stuck in my chest. He was gorgeous—beyond gorgeous. Like a something in a museum that I wanted so badly to reach out and touch, despite all the signs posted warning me against it…
“I’m sure.” I laughed, collapsing back into the couch. I snagged an olive from his so-called charcuterie board and popped it into my mouth, relishing the way its salt exploded onto my tongue when I crushed it between my teeth. “Very sure, in fact.”
Nathan shrugged. “Your funeral. Want me to pop on a movie, then?” He grabbed a remote off the coffee table and pointed it toward the fireplace. A screen began to descend from the ceiling. Behind us, a projector whirred to life. “A little break never hurt anyone.”
I should have said no. I knew I should’ve turned him down, sure as I knew the sun would rise in the morning and that I’d never forget the names of another muscle of the back again. Not after seeing them flexing beneath Nathan’s skin, so tight and taut and well-defined.
“I’d like that,” I said instead, cuddling a little deeper into the plush cushions of the couch. “What’ve you got?”
He beamed. “Ever seen a Kurosawa film? They’re legendary—if you don’t mind that they’re in black and white.”
“Sounds interesting. Put it on, then.” I found myself smiling softly, turning toward him and fighting back a yawn as he placed himself on the couch next to me again. To my surprise, I felt strangely comfortable with him like this. Warm and safe and at ease. With another flick of his remote, the lights lowered the room into darkness. He kept his distance—just close enough that I could touch him if I wanted, but far enough away that I didn’t have to—as the movie flickered to life on the screen. A title card, then a picture blooming there in black and white.
7
Nathan
He fell asleep on my couch.
Not just my couch, though.
On my shoulder.
One minute, Damon Bishop been sitting there, upright and attentive as the samurai on the screen burned down the bandit village; the next, he’d slumped to the side, resting his head on the side of my arm and cuddling in with a familiarity that I hadn’t been expecting—especially not from him.
I’d tucked my arm around him immediately, thinking that I’d finally won him over. That he was actually warming up to me. That his little ice king schtick was finally done.
But then I’d heard his breathing. Soft, slow and gentle. When I glanced down at him, his eyes were closed, lashes already fluttering away as his dreams whisked his consciousness elsewhere.
“Bruff?” Lady grumbled in confusion, trotting out of my office on her stubby little legs. I was surprised she hadn’t made an appearance earlier—usually, she came out immediately to bark at my guests like they were birds in the trees of Central Park across the street. But tonight, it looked like she was keeping her distance. Waiting until the perfect time to come inspect the man I’d brought home with me.
“Your guess is as good as mine, girl,” I said, gently easing Damon off my shoulder and laying him down safely on the couch. I tucked a decorative pillow beneath his head and left the room to grab a blanket for him.
When I got back, I found Lady up on the couch with him, curled in the space between the edge of the couch and Damon’s chest.
“That’s not like you,” I pointed out, speaking softly so I didn’t wake Damon. “You’ve never warmed up to any of my other friends this fast.”
“Bruff,” Lady grumbled, tucking her head down atop her paws and closing her eyes as well.
“As you like it, then.” I threw the blanket over both of them, tucking it around Damon’s body until he was covered completely, safe and sound.<
br />
It was strange, having an Omega I was so interested in sleeping with in my apartment like this. Even stranger to find that Lady didn’t mind his presence. If anything, she seemed to enjoy it. Normally when I had an Omega over, Lady treated him like an intruder when he arrived and an unwelcome houseguest when it was time for him to leave. She was old, crotchety, and just the slightest bit hateful. Normally, I appreciated that. Meant I never had to slip out of my own place the morning after or make up some bullshit excuse to herd my one-night stand out the door.
“Your dog doesn’t like me.” How many times had I heard that line? At sixteen, Lady didn’t like most people. She hadn’t when I’d picked her up from the pound, half-starved and as anti-social as they came, and she hadn’t grown to like them any more now that she was ten pounds heavier and the duchess of her own domain.
But there she was, sleeping soundly next to Damon like she’d known him all her life.
“Strangest thing,” I mumbled, turning off the movie and gathering up what was left of our midnight snack. I put the leftovers away before collapsing into an armchair myself.
I should’ve gone to bed, I knew—especially after the talking-to Damon had given me about my posture—but for some reason, I couldn’t quite bring myself to leave Damon’s side. He looked sweet when he was sleeping. All that vulnerability I’d first seen in him up on the stage at the Ballroom suddenly manifested in a new form. It awakened something in me, some kind of caveman urge that must’ve been left over from our Neanderthal days.
I didn’t want to go to bed. I wanted to sit awake next to him all night, watching over him and making sure the fire stayed lit to keep him warm.
At some point, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, sunshine was filtering in through the windows, telling me we’d made it safely through the night. I couldn’t remember sleeping, but for some reason, my body felt more rested than it had been in weeks.
“Morning, girl,” I greeted Lady as she hopped down from the couch to follow me into the kitchen.
“Bruff!” she barked gently, pausing to look back at Damon. Like she was making sure her little woof hadn’t woken him up.
It hadn’t. He was sleeping so soundly, I was half-tempted to check and make sure he wasn’t dead. But I knew what that little bark meant—breakfast. If the sound of Lady’s barking didn’t wake him up, maybe the smell of bacon sizzling away in a skillet would.
I laid six strips down in a cold frying pan, tossing in a little water to help distribute the heat properly. A little something I’d learned from our live-in cook when I was younger—I could still hear her voice in my head as I melted butter into another pan for the eggs.
“Never settle for soggy bacon, Nate,” she’d told me, gesturing with her spatula for emphasis. “Low and slow, always always always.” I’d learned a lot from Rosa those early mornings when I’d woken up before my parents to toddle down to the kitchen. It had been worth the way Dad had tanned my hide when he found out I was fraternizing with the help; at the very least, I could cook for myself.
While butter foamed away beneath the eggs, turning the edges crisp and golden, the smell of bacon flooded the apartment. As I suspected, it finally roused Damon from his sleep.
“Shit,” he groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a clenched fist. “What time is it?”
I checked my grandfather’s Rolex, still clasped around my wrist from the night before. “Eight o’clock, Sleeping Beauty. Did you dream of me?”
“Shit,” he swore again, kicking himself free from the blanket he’d wound around his legs in his sleep. “Shit, shit, shit.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Somewhere to be?”
“My midterm’s at nine.” He glanced around the apartment frantically like it was a war zone, not a luxury penthouse. “Shower? Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” I pointed him in the right direction. “Down the hall, third door on the left. Towels on the rack are clean. Use whatever toiletries you can find in there.”
“Shit,” he swore a final time, taking the hall at a jog. “Thanks!”
As Damon hopped in the shower, I shifted gears on breakfast. He’d probably be wanting his to-go if he wanted to get to his exam on time. I nabbed a tortilla from the pantry and slipped it into the pan beneath the eggs, adding in some chopped bacon and avocado before folding it all together. The coffee, which I’d put on thinking we might drink it on the balcony together, I sidelined into a Thermos, leaving the cap off so it could cool down a little before he headed out the door. If Damon was going to go do brain work this early, the last thing he needed was his caffeine influx burning his mouth on the way to class.
Damon showered in record time, stumbling back out in jeans that clung to his thighs and a t-shirt that dampened against his chest.
“Could’ve loaned you a change of clothes,” I pointed out, but he waved the offer away.
“Too late already. Time?”
I checked my watch again. “Eight fifteen.”
“Shit!” Damon rubbed his temples in frustration as Lady waddled over to lick his toes. “There’s no way I’m going to get there in time.” He glanced down at Lady in confusion, then back up at me. “Did you get a dog while I was asleep?”
I laughed. “Meet Lady. She’s taken a liking to you.” I handed him off his breakfast tortilla and coffee with a smile. “You should be flattered—that never happens.”
“I’m flattered, all right.” Damon groaned as he pulled on his socks. “Unfortunately, my professor won’t take a letter of absence from your Corgi to explain why I’ve missed the first half of my exam.”
“Where are you headed?” I asked out of curiosity.
“NYU. It’ll take an hour at least—”
“If you try getting a cab in rush hour traffic, maybe. But that’s just south on Fifth, isn’t it?”
“Sort of. Not that it matters.”
He brushed past me, trudging down the hall to grab his shoes. I caught his arm as he moved by, pulling him back and staring into those pretty blue eyes of his.
“Damon. We’re on Fifth.” I suppressed a chuckle as the realization lit up his irises. “If you take the subway on Fifty-Seventh, you’ll be there in fifteen minutes or something.”
“Shit,” he swore for what I hoped was the last time. But this time, when the word left his mouth, it was in awe. “So…I have time.”
“A little bit.” I pressed his breakfast at him again. “Have a bite. Brain food.”
A sigh of relief left Damon’s lips before he finally took the tortilla from me and stuffed the end of it in his mouth.
“God, that’s good.”
“Bruff!” Lady chirped in, licking her lips at the sight of the bacon poking out from the end of the impromptu burrito in Damon’s hand.
“Okay, okay. Yours is coming,” I assured her, nabbing a slice of bacon off the plate it had been resting on.
Damon brightened incredibly with a little food in his stomach and the knowledge that he wasn’t going to miss his test.
“Nate…I ought to, um…”
“Yes, Mr. Bishop?” I blinked up at him expectantly as Lady licked the bacon grease from my fingers.
“Just, thank you. This morning would’ve been a mess if I’d gone home last night.”
“Anytime,” I offered, smiling up at him from my stooped position. “Though, I’ve gotta admit. Never took you for an NYU kind of guy.”
“On scholarship,” he explained. “Full ride. Gotta keep my grades up if I don’t want to lose it.”
A full-ride scholarship at NYU. It wasn’t the easiest thing to nab, and not exactly something I expected to discover about a man who took his clothes off for a living. He was beginning to make me question all my preconceived notions about exotic dancers. But then again, I’d known there was something different about Damon from the start.
“Let’s make sure you ace this, then,” I said, striding down the hall to grab his shoes for him. “And next time your place is too loud to study, gi
ve me a call. Door’s always open.” I laughed. “Or at least, as long as I warn the doorman it will be.”
“I’d need your number if I wanted to call you,” Damon pointed out.
My smile doubled slowly as I realized what he was asking me for. God, I was tempted to tease him about it. You like me, you little shit! You fucking like me.
But he had other things on his mind this morning. Other things, I presumed, that made it a lot more difficult to keep all those walls of his up and ready.
I scribbled my number on a stray piece of paper from one of the drawers in the kitchen island, tucking it into his pocket and patting it safely against his thigh.
“There you go. Now—better get a move on.”
Damon scarfed down the rest of his breakfast in a few quick bites and laced his shoes up at record speed. He only paused once in his bid for the door to glance back at me—with a smile on his face, to my surprise.
“Thanks again,” he said gently. “Mr. Garnet.”
“Don’t mention it, Mr. Bishop. The pleasure was all mine.”
“Bruff!” added Lady, trotting forward to say her own goodbye.
Damon gave her a little scratch behind the ears before he disappeared out the door.
8
Damon
Anders whistled low as I slumped into the apartment, simultaneously exhausted and on some kind of bizarre, thrumming high.
“Late night last night?” he commented, flipping the pages of the magazine he was reading one by one without bothering to read what was printed on their glossy pages.
“Don’t start,” I warned him, poking a finger in his direction for emphasis.
“Late morning, too.”
“Do not.”
“Late afternoon…” He slid his tongue across his lips, tracing the line of smug smile.
“Anders, I will say this one more time, and only one more time.” I dropped my bag to the floor of the living room and squared my shoulders to him. “Do not, do not, don’t.”
