by Aiden Bates
“Guess money really can’t buy everything, huh?”
“Maybe not. But it can buy you safety. Security. You don’t have to want for anything, or worry about anything—”
“Except for the baby you put in my belly.”
I inclined my head slightly, acknowledging his point. “That’s fair. But you’ll be taken care of. Whatever else is going on right now…you’re not alone is what I’m trying to say. And if you never want to see me again…”
He knitted his brow together, pulling his hand away. “I never said that.”
“Well, you’re fucking acting like it.” I held onto the chill of his fingertips even harder, willing them to warm up in my palm. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but God—I’d touched him, and the idea of not being able to touch him anymore now that I had felt like a special kind of dying to me. “All I’ve wanted through all of this was for you to fucking like me, Damon. For you to want me.”
“And now you’ve got a bastard child to deal with instead.”
“No,” I said firmly, placing my own mug on the table beside his and scooting closer. “Now I’ve got—Christ. A head so full of feelings and questions and possibilities that it’s making me dizzy trying to keep track of them while they all spin around my brain.”
“Questions like what?”
“Questions like—well, do you?”
“Do I what?”
I laughed again. “Do you like me? Fuck, do you have any idea how strange this is for me? I’ve never had to worry about that before, and then you came crashing into my life…”
“Crashing into your life. Sounds about right.”
I squeezed his hand tight. “Crashing gorgeously. Brilliantly. Like a fucking meteor burning up in my atmosphere, and I’ve just been standing here on the ground hoping to God that by the time you pass through the clouds, there’s something left of you to knock me over with.” I reached out for him, fingers hesitating an inch away from his jawline. “You could destroy my entire goddamn world, Damon Bishop, and I’d thank you for every minute of it.”
He glanced down at my fingertips, biting his lower lip. “And am I?”
“Are you what?”
“Destroying your world.”
I smiled. “Maybe. But you’re doing such a beautiful job of it.”
He sighed. “I…I do like you, Nathan. Maybe even more than like. And…and I want to keep the baby. Foster suggested that I give it up for adoption, but…”
His words trailed off, but in their wake, my heart was soaring. I’d never felt so warm, so light—so steady and grounded and strong. It was like I’d been living in black and white for my whole life, and suddenly some divine being had touched the tip of his paintbrush to the canvas, sending it blossoming to life in vivid watercolor.
“You like me,” I repeated, dumbstruck.
“Well, of course I like you, you big dumb—”
“And you want to keep our baby.”
“Well, I’m not about to leave it in a basket on some stranger’s doorstep—”
“And you want to raise it. Together. You and me?”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Well, I wasn’t exactly suggesting that right off the bat, but—”
Whatever words came after that were crushed beneath my lips as I pressed them against Damon’s mouth. His fingers might have been cold, but his lips were deliciously warm. The fingertips that had been hesitating at his jaw were suddenly all too eager to claim it, hooking beneath it and tugging him toward me.
I wanted to be close to him. Physically, emotionally, mentally—hell, I’d never been a religious man, but I’d have prayed as much of a Hail Mary as I knew if it meant keeping Damon’s body close to mine.
At first, it was only me doing the kissing. But slowly, Damon’s lips eased into it, his tongue slipping out to flick against mine. With every inch he gave me, I took a mile—thrusting my tongue into his mouth, desperate to taste a little more of him. To feel him. To bask in the heat I found between his lips.
I pulled him onto me, sending us tumbling back onto the couch together like dancers caught up in the same misstep. My fingers pulled at his t-shirt, holding him closer to me still, and in the black behind my eyelids, a kaleidoscope of radiant color bloomed and swirled with the deepening of our kiss.
“I want it, Damon,” I panted, straining against my own muscles to avoid just taking him then and there on the couch. “Everything. This baby. You.” I breathed out a ragged breath. “I want it all.”
“I…I want it too,” he admitted softly. I could feel his own resistance—but where I was fighting my desire to pin him down and make him mine, it felt like he was fighting his own urge to give into me. “Just…Nathan, are you sure?”
“Mr. Bishop,” I purred, my chest heaving beneath him and lips curling back over my teeth. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire fucking life.”
Somewhere between his question and my expletive, whatever was left holding us back melted away. Like sugar in hot tea. Snow in the rain. Then, we were kissing again in a mad scramble, fingers clawing at each other’s clothing like our shirts were on fire and tearing them off each other was the only way to keep from getting burned.
His chest moved against mine, all firm muscles and soft, warm skin. I rolled us, twisting and pawing at each other’s bodies there on the couch until I was the one on top again. I had to be careful, though—with my baby in Damon’s belly, I didn’t want to hurt him beneath my weight. I thrust my hips against his instead, feeling the swelling length of my cock rub needily against the bulge beneath Damon’s jeans.
“Pants,” I snarled, clawing at his belt.
“Are you sure you don’t want to—”
“Pants,” I said again, and then our hands were a flurry of motion at each other’s waists, struggling to free each other from the confines of denim and wool.
I kissed down his chest, pulling his legs free of his jeans as I maneuvered myself between his thighs. He smelled better than anything I’d ever smelled in my life—fresh linen and musk, the slightest hint of sweat so fucking irresistible that I found myself lapping at his skin. His boxers, I claimed with my teeth, pulling them down and away until his cock sprang out for me to lick at instead. My tongue bathed the head of it as I cupped his balls in my hand, enjoying every hiss of pleasure that came with every buck of his hips.
“I love you,” I told him, gripping the base of him tight in my fist. I rubbed my face against his dick as it throbbed beneath my hold, nuzzling at him while my head swirled with longing. “God, I fucking love you. I love you so goddamn much.”
“I…I love you too—” he admitted, arching and gasping as I pumped at his hot, stiff cock, squeezing tight.
“Good.” I forced my own boxers down and moved over him, rubbing the aching stiffness of my own cock against his for a moment before thrusting the tip lower. “Because you’re mine, Mr. Bishop.”
“I’m…Oh, god.” His eyes closed, lashes fluttering as I stroked his tight asshole with my fingers, already wet and willing and so fucking eager for me. “I’m yours. I’m all fucking yours.”
“Mm.” I raised my fingers to my lips, sucking them into my mouth to taste his honey. Salty and sweet. The perfect taste of a perfect man—my perfect man. My Omega. My own. “And you want me, Mr. Bishop?”
“God.” His teeth dug into his lower lip, trying to trap a whimper that escaped anyway when I replaced my fingers at his entrance with the engorged tip of my cock. “God—I do. I really do.”
He squeezed me so tight as I pressed into him, his body felt like a vice. His ass clutched at my cock, throbbing deliciously, pulling me deeper. Begging me to come inside.
And who was I to deny him then?
It was just like he said—he was mine. All fucking mine.
I took his hips in my hands, digging my fingertips into the flexing muscles there as I mounted him. I thrust hard. Deep. Caught up in my own desire not to hurt him, and the even darker desire to make him ache for a fucking week. Our bodies mo
ved together, finding a compromise between the two. Slow and steady, but forceful. Raw. Wild. I gave him an inch, then another, then another—and then he was thrusting against me too, driving me deeper still until my cock was buried to the hilt in his wet, clenching heat.
“Mine,” I snarled again, dropping down against him so I could hold his body to mine. “All mine.”
I hooked an arm around his back, squeezing him tight as my pace quickened. His lashes, so long and thick, fluttered gorgeous as he moaned for me—the Oh, Gods, and Nathan, pleases, and flurry of swears all mixing together like a delectable symphony of which I was the sole conductor.
“Come for me, Damon,” I commanded him. My own balls were tense at the base of my cock, slamming against his ass over and over again until they were ready to burst. “You’re mine. You belong to me. Now fucking come for me. Come!”
“I love you,” he gasped, eyes clenching shut as his lips gaped in ecstasy. “I love you—I love you so fucking much—”
“Come!” I snarled again, squeezing him tighter than ever.
It all crescendoed perfectly, so perfectly my cock was giving a standing ovation inside him. My whole body seized up as my cum rushed up from my balls and out through my tip, exploding forcefully and filling him up with everything I had. My cum, my dreams of our future together—the sheer fucking adoration I felt for him—all rushed out from the head of my cock so fast it made me shudder. And beneath me, Damon was shuddering too, his moans mixing with the torn edges of my every breath as we came together, holding onto each other for dear life.
I stared down at him after, so transfixed by how perfect he looked with my seed in his ass and my child in his womb that it shocked every other thought from my mind. Instead of words, I found myself laughing, kissing every inch of his face that my lips could claim.
“I love you,” I finally said, resting my forehead against his. “God, I love you so fucking much.”
“That’s good,” he breathed, laughing back at me. “Considering how fucked everything else is…you have no idea how good that is to hear.”
I pulled back, licking my lips as I took in his perfect features all over again. “Mr. Bishop, the only thing in our lives that’s going to be fucked in our lives from here on out is, well, you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “My college?”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“Stalker situation at my apartment?”
“Move in with me.”
“This pregnancy? Our baby?”
“I’ll take care of you both.”
His eyes narrowed, still sparkling with laughter. “You really do think you have an answer for everything, don’t you, Mr. Garnet?”
My smile widened so much, it made my face hurt. “Maybe not everything. But you’ve got to admit, Mr. Bishop…I’ve got answers for an awful lot.”
He smiled too, so soft and sweet and handsome as his legs wrapped around my waist that I could see our whole lives playing out in the curves of his lips. “I’ll take it, then, Mr. Garnet. I’ll take all of it.”
I thrust a little deeper inside him, feeling my cock swelling with want of him again already. “Mm. You know, Mr. Bishop…I think you will.”
Epilogue
Duncan
At thirty-eight, I thought I’d seen it all. All the world’s wonders. All the world’s most gorgeous men. But even then, I had to admit it—I’d never seen that much good-looking squeezed into that tiny of a G-string before.
“You keep gawking with your mouth open like that and someone’s going to come over here to stick a cock in it.” Nathan pressed an ice-cold drink into my hand from the open bar.
“If he looks anything like that, he’s welcome to.” I picked my jaw up off the floor and smiled as the object of my affections swirled his hips and tipped his cowboy hat to the sound of his friends cheering him on. “They always like this after hours?”
Nathan shrugged, laughing as Damon helped his handsome cowboy friend down off the table he’d been dancing on. “Hard to say. Figure we better let them have their fun, though. It’s sweet of them to throw Damon a going-away party like this.”
“He wouldn’t be going away if you hadn’t knocked him up, you dirty dog.” I took a sip of the drink he’d handed me and nearly spat it out. “Is there not any booze in this?”
Nathan grinned. “Virgin mojitos.”
“What’s the fun in that?”
“Pregnant Omega, Dunk. Lighten up—let’s see if Damon will set you two up.”
Nathan summoned Damon over with a come-hither wave. I watched the way he narrowed his eyes at me when he saw me, but thankfully, the look softened as he approached. Apparently all of my incessant apologizing was finally starting to get me somewhere.
“What’s up, boys?” Damon looked at me pointedly. “I don’t have any more scholarships for you to lose me, you know.”
“I know,” I said with a cringe. “If I’d known that Jim was on your board… Have I mentioned how terribly sorry I am about that?”
Damon laughed, waving my worries away. “You’ve mentioned it from time to time. Don’t worry, though.” He ran his hands over his belly, which was finally starting to show beneath his t-shirt. “Would’ve needed to take school a little slower than the scholarship would’ve allowed me anyway. Everything’s worked out okay in the end. I almost even forgive you, you know.”
I echoed his laugh, already wracking my brain for ways to eliminate that almost. “I appreciate that. You’ll still have to let me buy that little bundle of joy of yours one of those expensive strollers or something to make it up to you, though.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll let you.” Damon rolled his eyes, snorting as Nathan wrapped him up in his arms. “What’d you call me over for? Is there a problem?”
“That one.” I pointed the cowboy out to Damon. “He’s my problem. Help me out here—how do I win that one over?”
Damon snorted as he laid his eyes on my prize. “Honestly, Duncan? The best I can do for you is to tell you to stay away. Kieran’s stone-cold—you’d be better off setting your sights on literally anyone else.”
A slow song trickled from the speakers overhead, replacing the party beats with sultry jazz. Nathan offered Damon his hand, leading him off onto the dance floor and leaving me to my own devices once again.
But despite myself, I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of him. Cowboy Kieran—I liked the sound of him almost as much as I liked his look.
“Stone-cold, huh?” I sipped my boozeless mojito and smiled at the way Kieran’s jeans hugged his hips as he pulled them back on. Rugged, ripped, sandy-haired and wild-eyed…
Stone-cold sounded like just my type.
Book 3
Betting On His Angel
Heaven’s Ballroom: Book 3
Aiden Bates
© 2019
Disclaimer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).
1
Kieran
I cringed slightly as my new Omega coworker mistook the sleeve of my t-shirt for a Kleenex. “It’s, uh. It’s going to be…okay,” I told him, patting him on the head as I stared at the wall in an uncomfortable stupor.
“It’s not!” he wailed, trumpeting his nose into my sleeve again. “He’s gone, Kieran! My Alpha’s gone! And it’s all my—my—my fault!”
“Yeah, well, you did fuck his dad,” I pointed out, because it was tru
e. Now, maybe it wasn’t my place to say it, but I was enjoying comforting Ben through his totally preventable breakup about as much as I’d enjoy washing Ben’s snot out of my sleeve later. “Not much use in crying over spilled milk when you’re the one who deliberately upended the gallon, right?”
Ben glanced up at me, glaring daggers. “You’re supposed to say that he was asking for it, you ass!” He got up abruptly and stormed off to the showers, undoubtedly to find some other expensive item of clothing to turn into his personal snot rag.
“I highly doubt he asked you to go down on his father in a janitorial closet!” I called after him—not that it mattered. Ben was the kind of Omega that gave the rest of us a bad name. Too pretty for his own good, too dumb to make his good looks work in his favor.
Frankly, I was better off just throwing the t-shirt in the trash and letting my boss know that we’d probably need to start hiring again. Ben was only the latest in a long string of Omegas we’d been auditioning to fill the spots left in the Heaven’s Ballroom line-up—and I had a bad feeling that he’d work out about as well as all the others.
Being an Angel at the Ballroom didn’t require much, as far as I was concerned. A little charm, a hot body, an ability to keep a beat and a willingness to learn our routines essentially guaranteed you a regular spot at New York’s premier Almega strip club. But as it turned out, it wasn’t a job that everyone found as effortless as I did. Ben was two weeks into the gig and already coming in later every shift, usually with some romantic woe or another that he wanted me to play therapist over.
Just because I had a psych degree didn’t mean I wanted to play Sigmund Freud to every heartbroken Omega’s daddy issues. Honestly, I would’ve rather eaten my cowboy hat.
Rising from the locker room bench, I tightened the belt around my assless chaps and clicked my spurs against the floor. The t-shirt, I tossed into my gym bag before I headed out to the mirrors to start oiling up my chest.
