by Aiden Bates
My hands sought out something to hold onto, first the sheets then his hair. My fingers moved through the dark waves, combing them anxiously into rows as he edged me closer and closer to ecstasy, then tensing up at his roots when finally, he pushed me over the edge with a hard suck and a flick of his tongue. The thin, velvety pink tip of my cock was suddenly flushed with blood and alive with fire as cum erupted up from my balls, bursting into his mouth and flooding over his tongue.
“Mm,” he moaned, a pop resounding as he suctioned his mouth off of my cock to swallow. He licked his lips clean, then wiped them with the back of his hand. A scoundrel’s grin appeared as he looked up from his place between my thighs, my still-throbbing cock hard as ever, towering just before his face. “Delicious, Kieran.”
Then he turned me over, and I couldn’t see what he was doing at all anymore.
But Christ, I could feel it. I could feel every shift in motion. Every calculation he made as he decided what he wanted to do with me next.
Every fucking breath.
He dipped his lips down to my ass, kissing one cheek then sinking his teeth into it gently, increasing the pressure until I began to hiss with a heady mix of pleasure and pain.
“Spread yourself for me,” he commanded, and by that point, I was too far gone to dream of disobeying. I wanted him to take me—use me, mark me as he saw fit. I was done fighting Duncan Rourke for good—so done that I was struggling to remember why I’d fought him in the first place. There was more pleasure to be had from him from giving into it. If he would have asked me to jump just then, I would have only asked if he wanted me to do it naked, or if I should put on my angel’s wings first.
He could’ve told me to fucking levitate, and I would’ve found a way.
Duncan’s breath was warm and humid as it kissed the tightness of my hole. The tense little ring of it ached for him—for his lips, his tongue, his touch. It ached for his cock most of all, but Duncan didn’t seem to have any intention of taking things too fast. Not now that he had me. Not now that I was his.
“God, you have such a tight ass,” he breathed, fingers curling around my thighs as he dipped his lips to rim me. The slickness and heat of his tongue left me gasping, but even as I pulled away from the intensity of the sensation, he only tugged me closer. Licked me deeper. “Mm,” he moaned again. “Tasty, too. You’re so fucking wet for me, Kieran. Do you have any idea how wet you are?”
I arched my back and closed my eyes, letting the feelings roll over my body. I had some idea, I realized—my hole was dripping with honey in readiness for his cock, to the point where I could feel it trailing down my ballsac, sticky and molten with heat. Duncan tongued it off of me, lapping back up to my hole and diving back in for a second helping. My ass itself was already clenching with want, like it expected to be filled with his cock any moment now. But first, he gave me his tongue—then his fingers—and finally, when I was so ready for him I thought my entire world would fall apart if I didn’t have him inside me—he pressed his cock to the hole and drove it deep inside me, making use of my wetness to wrack my body to its fucking core.
“Mine,” he growled, dipping his lips to my back to kiss down my spine.
“Yours,” I echoed breathlessly, feeling his arms wrap around my ribs and pull me towards him.
I braced myself against his headboard, arms stiff and shaking as his teeth scraped against my shoulder. My whole body was brimming with flames, so present in the moment that I could feel every tremble of my hands, the torn way I had to release every breath. Duncan’s hips thrust behind me, moving slowly at first and picking up speed until I didn’t think I could breathe at all anymore. The breaths turned into moans, which turned into rough, ragged cries.
My cock was rock fucking hard as he delved deeper and deeper within me, every pregnancy hormone that had been pumping through my veins suddenly focused completely on the pleasure of it all. The heat and the sweat and the need. I could smell the scent of his body mingling with my own, rugged and natural, so deliciously sweet that I didn’t want to stop breathing him in.
But then his cock jerked within me, and breathing became impossible all over again. I could feel it, the rush of his cum as he poured himself deep into my ass, coating every wall and filling me up all the way to my womb itself. My own cock jerked involuntarily, not even being touched but nonetheless desperate to come again for Duncan anyway. It mirrored the movements of Duncan’s cock inside me, violently twitching as my cum rose up in torrents, bubbling down my shaft like a fucking fountain.
It was so intense, it made me dizzy. So perfect, I could hardly believe it was real.
“God,” I released, slumping my shoulders in exhaustion and breathing hard. “Fuck…I fucking love you.”
“I fucking love you—” Duncan’s tongue lapped against the small of my back as he withdrew from me, lost in the sensation of what we’d just shared together, before he caught what he’d just said to me. What I’d just said to him. He rolled me over to meet my eyes, a look of longing and confusion and hope mixed into the mahogany of his irises. “Sorry—wait, what?”
“I love you,” I gasped again, blinking up at him with surprise that quickly deepened, shifted into a realization that sank all the way into my core. “I love you, Duncan.”
“Yeah?” His smile spread slowly, like his ability to believe it was still running against all the checks and balances he’d built up through the years. “You mean it?”
“Of course I mean it, you ass.” I laughed as I wound my arms around his neck, rolling with him and planting my lips firmly against his. “I love you. Of course I love you.”
“Mm. Say it one more time then,” he growled. “Just to be sure.”
“I love you, Duncan.”
“Mm. I love you too, Kieran.” This time, he initiated the kiss, his tongue probing between my lips to flick against my own. “Move in with me, then.”
I raised an eyebrow, challenging him playfully. “You’ll have to help me move out first.”
“Be my boyfriend,” he added, teasing my knuckles with his fingertips.
I smiled, holding his hand against my belly. “I think I’m already a little more than that.”
“Quit your job at the club,” he said, looking more stern for a moment.
Both my eyebrows shot up at that. “Why? You don’t strike me as the jealous type.”
He shrugged. “For the right man, I could be. But no—it’s not that. If dancing was really your passion and not just about the money for you, you would’ve never been auditioning at the Backdoor like that.”
“Mm. And now that money is no object…what? I become your trophy husband? Lounge around your penthouse all day in my underwear, eating bonbons and bearing your children?”
“God, no,” Duncan swore, erupting in laughter. As it abated, his eyes were sparkling. He pulled my knuckles to his lips, kissing them deeply. “I don’t want you to be comfortable, sweetheart.”
I glanced down at his cock, still hard against my thigh. “I don’t think that’s even possible, being with you.”
“I want you to follow your passions,” he explained, his cock throbbing at the compliment nonetheless. “You got your undergrad in psych. Why not go back, get your masters? Write a book or something.”
I suppressed a giggle. “On what? The psychology of hook-up culture or something?”
He shrugged, tongue flicking against my fingertips. “Why not? Can’t imagine anyone better for the job.”
“Mm,” I hummed, rolling onto my back and staring up at the ceiling. “And a man like you could offer me that kind of life, huh?”
“A man like me,” he repeated, rolling back himself. His fingers found the spaces between mine, interlocking with perfection and squeezing tight. “And a man like you would fucking love it, too.”
I grinned up at the ceiling in a daze, feeling the warmth of Duncan’s body next to mine, the strength of his fingers and the tightness that he’d left in my womb when he’d given me his child.
As I thought of our future together, I couldn’t stop smiling. A man like him couldn’t make me, and a man like me didn’t want to.
Epilogue
Noah
If someone would have told me three months ago that Kieran Drake was going to wind up pregnant and happily engaged before me, I would have laughed in their face. But as he came through the doors of the Ballroom to pick up his final paycheck, there he was—a little exhausted-looking, maybe, but definitely pregnant, definitely engaged, and definitely happy.
All this, from a man who I’d once heard refer to marriage as “something idiots decide to do as an excuse to throw a party.” If I hadn’t been so glad to see him actually enjoying being in love, I would’ve been jealous or annoyed—or both.
“Duncan keeping you up all night?” I asked with a laugh, throwing my arms around his neck and pulling him in for a brief squeeze. “I’ve never seen such a hot mess grinning so big before.”
“God, if it’s not him, then it’s the baby.” Kieran rolled his eyes as he pulled away. “I’m so annoyed—where’s my pregnancy glow? I was promised a damn pregnancy glow.”
I cocked my head toward Foster’s office up the stairs. “Come on. Maybe it’s with your paycheck.”
Up in Foster’s office, we found the man himself staring out his street-facing window with a strange sense of focus.
“Hey, Foster—look what the cat dragged in,” I announced, nudging Kieran forward.
Foster cast a glance over his shoulder and chuckled. “Duncan keeping you up all night? Paycheck is on the desk.”
Kieran and I shared an amused glance—neither of us had the heart to tell Foster I’d already beaten him to the joke.
“What’re you looking at, anyway?” I asked, noticing the way Foster’s gaze returned to the street outside.
“Mm. Maybe nothing.” He raked his fingers through his dark blond hair, then cupped his chin contemplatively in his hand. “Maybe something. You see that black SUV out front? It’s been parked there three times this week alone. Something fishy about it, I think.”
I leaned over Foster’s shoulder to get a look at the vehicle myself. “Driver’s not bad looking. Maybe its Anders’ stalker.”
“Please,” Foster scoffed. “If Anders’ stalker isn’t a balding, middle-aged with fingers perpetually stained from Doritos dust, I’ll eat my own ass.”
Kieran raised an eyebrow, joining us at the window. “You can do that?”
Foster shrugged. “Party trick,” he joked. “Never hurts to stay flexible. I’m not being paranoid though, am I? There’s something weird about that guy.”
“Nah,” I said, nodding in agreement. “No one that good-looking spends all his time hanging out in an SUV in front of a burlesque club.”
Foster smirked as he turned toward me. “That’s the second time you’ve called him good-looking in under a minute, you know.”
I ran my tongue across my lower lip, leaning in to get a better look at our mystery man. I’d mentioned it twice because, well, it was true. Broad shoulders, biceps bulging out from beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt. Rugged jawline like some kind of Hollywood action star, dark stubble accentuating the handsome tan of his skin. He had thick, elegantly arched brows, half fashion model, half mountain man, and dark, thick waves of hair that were just begging to have fingers run through them. My own fingers twitched instinctively at the very thought.
“Why don’t you let me take care of him, then?” I suggested. “Fun little side project. Keep an eye on him, see what he’s up to. That sort of thing.”
Foster narrowed his eyes at me, his grin widening. “The club is being scoped out by a dangerous-looking mystery man and you’re…what? Offering to seduce him for me? Really?”
“That’s Noah, all right,” Kieran said with a snort. “Always willing to take one for the team.”
“Please.” I rolled my eyes. “He’s not that dangerous-looking. Worst-case scenario, he’s, what? Some kind of mob hitman? I sound ridiculous even joking about that.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time the mob has taken interest in a place like this,” Foster said crisply. “You do what you like, Noah—you know I’m as curious about our new friend as anyone. But…stay safe, will you? I don’t want you getting in over your head on this.”
Kieran nudged me with his elbow. “What he means is, he doesn’t want to lose another dancer.”
“It’s true,” Foster agreed. “So help me god, if you end up dead in the East River…”
“Or worse,” Kieran joked, running a hand over his baby bump, “pregnant…”
I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll be careful, all right? But, I mean…come on. We all want to know what he’s up to, don’t we?”
“We do.” Foster nodded appreciatively.
“Very much,” Kieran echoed. “Keep me posted—Duncan’s taking me to NYU in an hour to interview for a place in their psych program, so I’ve gotta jet.”
“Good luck,” Foster and I called after him as he took his leave.
I followed Kieran out, feeling the excitement bubble up inside me as I made my way back downstairs. I loved a good mystery—especially when the mystery was as tall, dark and handsome as this one. Mob henchman, ruthless stalker, or what—I didn’t know what I would uncover about this guy yet.
But damned if I wasn’t looking forward to finding out.
Book 4
His Undercover Angel
Heaven’s Ballroom: Book 4
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
Ace
Don’t trust Omegas, my Alpha father once told me. The more you want to fuck them, the harder they’ll fuck you over.
In my experience, he’d been right. I had the scars to prove it. A ragged, raised one on my jawline, hidden beneath the bristles of my perpetual five o’clock shadow, another on my chest, cutting through a tattoo I’d come to regret. The men who’d left them on me were long gone now, usually taking my wallet with them when they went. That was just how it was growing up on the wrong side of town. True love and leather goods came and went. The scars, though—those were forever.
“Another drink?” asked the bartender, casting a glance at the dagger poking out from beneath my rolled-up sleeve. An Omega I thought I’d been in love with had inked it on my arm on my eighteenth birthday, just a few days before he left me for my best friend.
I waved him away, chuckling at how my tats and muscles must have made me look. Paired with the stubble, my dark hair, my affinity for neat whiskey and my resting don’t-fuck-with-me face, I knew the effect I had on others. The bartender was an Alpha, just like the bouncer at the door. They’d probably already given each other that knowing nod when I walked into Heaven’s Ballroom that night—the one that said, When this asshole starts to cause trouble, you get the taser, I’ll call the police.
They weren’t exactly wrong to think of me like that. I was trouble—just, thankfully, not the kind that started fistfights in fancy New York strip clubs.
The music that flowed from the orchestra pit was classy. Deep, crooning jazz, just polished enough that the club’s wealthy patrons didn’t have to feel immoral about how dirty it sounded. It was good music for drinking to, and for a moment, I wished I hadn’t waved the bartender away so quickly. But I was
n’t at the Ballroom to drink—like it or not, I’d need to keep my wits about me for the night.
I eased my shoulders back as I turned to rest my elbows on the bar, gaze wandering across the stage to scope out the main act. There was a gorgeous Omega splashing around in an oversized martini glass, doing things to a prop olive that threatened to split the crotch seams of every pair of Versace slacks in the room. Every pair save for one, anyway—I wasn’t the kind of Alpha who got half-hard every time an Omega so much as spared me a glance anymore. And gorgeous as that Omega was, thankfully, he wasn’t my type.
Unfortunately for me, the Omega serving drinks in the corner was.
Dark gold hair cut just slightly too long to look respectable. A devilish grin on his lips, edged with a little stubble of his own. The angel wings he wore strapped to his back didn’t fool me—he might’ve looked angelic, but he’d fallen long ago. Every ripple of his chest muscles as he dipped to serve a howling pack of bachelors their shots told me he was one backhanded comment or wandering hand away from hauling any one of them out onto the street by the scruff of their necks. He’d been boyishly handsome once—a relentless flirt, I was sure. But now, at twenty-five or twenty-six (give or take) he had enough experience under his belt to know better than to flirt with a pack of drunk Alphas out on a stag night.
He looked even better than the picture I’d been shown had promised. Noah Layton—my mark for the night.
Part of me wanted one of them to make a wrong move, just for the pleasure of watching the Omega lay him out. The way he kept his eyes on them, he was ready for it—I could tell.
