Heaven's Ballroom

by Aiden Bates

  My body folded over him as he hooked his legs around me from behind. My fist found his cock, stroking him as I lifted his hips up, forcing myself balls-deep in his clenching, soaked hole. It was the kind of coupling that nearly knocked the air from my lungs, made my knees weak with the sheer fucking ecstasy of it.

  We weren’t two independent people, rational and stubborn and headstrong anymore. We moved as one—one body, one spirit, one fucking soul in need of the same dark, desperate thing.

  “Alton,” he gasped. “Alton—Alton, fuck—”

  His cock twitched beneath my fingers, leaving them tightening all the more. I roared, rearing my head back as that violent, intense motion pushed me over the edge right along with him. His cum shot out over my knuckles, coating the bed beneath us. Mine blasted into him, my teeth bared viciously. I could feel the orgasm in my every muscle, ripping through me like shrapnel from a fucking bomb. Explosive, searing pleasure rocketed from my balls all the way up to my shoulders as I flooded his ass with every drop of cum I had to give him, until we collapsed simultaneously onto the bed together, his sweat-soaked skin pinned down beneath my chest.

  It felt so good, so exquisitely fucking divine, it wasn’t until I eased myself out of him that I realized the one mistake I’d made.

  No condom. No anything. Just my cum, trickling down his thigh and my cock, raw and coated in a perfect mixture of his honey and my seed.

  “Fuck,” I swore, and he rolled over, reaching the same conclusion that I had only a moment too late.

  “Oh,” he breathed, staring down at the way my cock was still throbbing, drenched in both of us. “Oh…yeah. Yeah, shit.”

  “Don’t suppose you’re on birth control?” I asked, still blinking half-dazed from the way the orgasm had flooded my brain.

  “I’m…No, I’m not. God, sorry. Shit.” He shook his head like he was trying to work off the intensity of it all. I knew better than that—we were in too deep to be rid of this feeling for hours. Maybe for the entire night. “I didn’t even think…”

  “Neither did I.” We could have panicked about it all night, I realized, but there was a better solution, and he looked too gorgeous for me to allow it. I wanted to enjoy him still—without worry. Without stress. “I’ll pick you up some Plan B in the morning. If you want, I mean.”

  He laughed, sitting up and smoothing his fingers over my hips. “Guess that’d be best. Can’t have me getting pregnant off of all the cum you’ve just dumped inside me, huh?”

  I licked my lips, leaning into him as a dark thought filled what little space was left in my head. A vision danced across my consciousness—Eliot, his abs giving way to a swelling belly, his body tender and delicate despite his muscles from the way I’d knocked him up.

  But no—that was definitely a bad idea. I pushed the thought away as quickly as it came. Aside from the daughter I already had, Eliot didn’t like kids—and this was still too fresh, too fragile and new to complicate things like that.

  No matter how bad I wanted it anyway. No matter how gorgeous he’d be with my child in his womb.

  “Guess not,” I agreed, laughing as he tugged me back into bed with him. My cock slipped against his thighs as he kissed me, the taste of my cum still on his lips. It was insane, but I was so hot for him—he was so perfectly built, so handsome and hard and such a delight to fuck—that I was already hardening again with his every touch. “But, I mean…since we’re already picking up Plan B in the morning…”

  His eyes narrowed, glinting with dark delight as my cock leapt up against his ass once again. “Oh, Alton. You’re bad. You’re very, very bad indeed.”

  “I am.” My teeth nipped against his neck, then claimed his lower lip. “But I can be very, very good too. If you’ll let me.”

  He drew in a sharp breath, nodding, eyes closed. “I want you so bad, I don’t think I could stop you at this point.”

  “Then don’t,” I suggested, pressing into his tight, cum-soaked ass all over again.

  And he didn’t. Not even close. Not for the entire rest of the night.

  12

  Eliot

  When I woke up the next morning, his lips were still on my skin.

  “Alton,” I whispered softly, trying to get his attention. I was lying on my back, my arm outstretched and still half-asleep from Alton’s weight on top of it. He was face down, body sprawled out across the mattress, taking up too much room in the way that told me he really had been sleeping alone for too long. “Alton, wake up.”

  His lips moved against my neck sleepily, like he was mumbling something or just trying to kiss me again in his dreams. A little grumble rose in his throat as I shifted beneath him, carefully regaining use of my arm.

  “Mrmbrm,” he grunted, his brow setting in exhausted concern.

  “What?” I giggled, clapping my hand over my mouth to stop from waking him.

  I should have gotten up then—found my clothes, maybe figured out how to work that expensive-looking espresso machine in his kitchen. But Alton’s body was so perfectly warm next to mine, it was almost impossible to untangle myself from him completely. I watched the way his muscular shoulders flexed as he wound his arms around me, pulling me back closer to him again.

  It just felt too incredible, how naturally our bodies fit together. How eager he was for me, even in his sleep. Given Alton’s history—not to mention our history together—I’d been surprised at how effortless the day before had been. How gorgeously the morning was already carrying on. It should have been hard, or at least a little awkward, given that it didn’t seem like Alton had been with anyone since Patrick and all…but it hadn’t been.

  If anything, it had been too easy. If this got any better, I’d have to start getting suspicious—waiting for the other shoe to fall.

  My body melted at his touch, and as his lips found my neck yet again, I couldn’t bring myself to get up and start my day. Not quite yet.

  “Mrmbrm,” he mumbled again, kissing my collarbones firmly despite the fact that his eyes were still solidly shut.

  “I can’t understand you, sleepyhead,” I whispered back to him, not daring to wake him. He was even dreaming about me. It was almost too sweet to believe.

  “Patrick.” He shifted, his lips smiling against my shoulder. “Mm. God, I’ve missed you so much.”

  A jolt of cold steel ran through my stomach, the metallic taste of bile rising up on my tongue. It coiled like a snake in the pit of my abdomen, hissing and leaking venom from its sharp, deadly fangs.

  Patrick. I should have known that it was too good to be true. He hadn’t been dreaming about me at all—he’d been dreaming about his dead husband. The man who’d given him his daughter. Shared this bed with him. Been too good to Alton for me to even be able to hate.

  No, it wasn’t hate I felt as I wormed my way out of Alton’s arms again and onto the floor. It wasn’t even jealousy—there was nothing less becoming than being jealous of a dead man. But frustration—frustration, I had in spades. A little bit of hurt to keep it company. A little anger for flavor.

  Patrick had already had Alton. He’d been able to enjoy this man who I was so obviously already in the process of falling for. Had him for so many years. Alton had given Patrick a ring, a home, his last name and a child. Everything that I could ever foresee myself—maybe, someday—wanting from the man I’d spent the night with, Patrick had already had.

  Was it really fair that he was getting this morning as well? That even when Alton slept next to me all night, it was Patrick’s name he was moaning in his sleep?

  I gathered up my clothes and slipped them on carefully—especially since, in my frustration, my sense of balance seemed to have gone out the window. But the last thing I wanted for the day was for Alton to wake up to the crash of my body tumbling against his dresser while I struggled to get back into my jeans.

  Or, the second to last thing, I guessed. The last thing I’d wanted was to find Alton Palmer kissing me while mumbling his late husband’s name—and t
hat ship, obviously, had already sailed.

  Somehow, I managed to get back into my clothes from the day before without wreaking any havoc on Alton’s bedroom. I stumbled out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen in a daze, still not sure what to make of the mixture of feelings that were running through my head.

  On one hand, Alton had loved Patrick, and I respected that love. It had left Alton with a perfect daughter who, against all odds, I actually liked. It had obviously been the kind of relationship that you only found once in a lifetime—and I could hardly begrudge Alton for the things he said when he was asleep, for fuck’s sake.

  On the other hand?

  On the other hand, I knew that if having a soul mate was only a once-in-a-lifetime thing, then there was no way Alton could be mine. If he was still in love with Patrick, he couldn’t even be my boyfriend, could he? I considered myself a relatively tolerant guy—which, all things considered, was probably how my last boyfriend had gotten away with knocking up my roommate. But could I handle being with Alton in the way I’d been with him last night, knowing all the while that Patrick’s ghost was still looming over us, even haunting Alton’s dreams?

  No, I decided then and there. No, I really, genuinely could not.

  I turned to face a more present problem—the espresso maker. At least it had instructions on the site—albeit, they were in Italian. It made me wonder if anyone had ever written a manual on dating widowed fathers. Maybe then I would have fared better navigating whatever emotions I was feeling about Alton that morning.

  But that only raised another question: were Alton and I even dating? He’d invited me to dinner at his boss’ place, taken me out to buy a suit, introduced me to his daughter and brought me home with him. By most standards, that was a date and then some. But neither of us had dared to say that most dangerous of b-words out loud yet—if one of us had, maybe I wouldn’t have been so sick over the way Patrick’s name had sounded on Alton’s lips.

  Eventually, I gave up on the espresso machine. It, much like the rest of my current situation, was way over my head. With a little rummaging around in the cupboards, I found a French press, some coffee beans, a grinder and a mug with the word HANDSOME written across the front of it—close enough. I doubted my ability to get through the rest of the morning without a little caffeine in me. At least, until Alton woke up again, at any rate. And if there was one thing I could definitely use, it was a little boost of self-esteem—even if the only way I could currently get it was by drinking from the HANDSOME cup.

  “Morning,” a grunt came from the hall. Alton swaggered out behind it, clad in a pair of striped cotton pajama pants and a cocky grin. His bare chest looked even better in the morning light than it had in bed. His hair was askew, the ruddy brown still pointing in all directions from the way I’d run my hands through it the night before. If I looked closely, I could still see the place on his neck that I’d sunk my teeth into, sucking and lapping at his skin until it had formed a soft bruise.

  He looked good, to my annoyance. So good, I almost forgot about how uncertain I felt.

  “Morning,” I said back, forcing a smile. “Nice hickey.”

  “What?” Alton touched the side of his neck, winced slightly, then widened his grin even more. “Oh…you marked me. You wild thing.” He sniffed the air. “Espresso?”

  “Just coffee.” I inclined my head toward the dark, rich liquid still steaming up the inside of his French press. “The espresso machine was beyond my abilities, unfortunately.”

  He smirked, bandying over and pouring himself a cup. “Can’t imagine there’s much that you can say that about. You were incredible last night, you know.”

  “Yeah,” I said softly, feeling the tinge of sadness in my throat and trying to choke it back down. “Yeah, so were you.”

  “Everything okay?” Of course he heard it. Alton was too smart, both intellectually and emotionally, to miss that unfortunate inflection in my voice. He shifted his body toward mine, placing his mug down on the counter and taking mine from my hands.

  “Yeah,” I lied, nodding eagerly to try and cover it up. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He raised an eyebrow, taking another step forward to press his hips against mine. “You don’t sound fine. What’s wrong?”

  I choked out a laugh. “Sore throat, maybe. Wonder what could have given me that?”

  His lips dipped down toward mine, corners pulled back in amusement. “Lizzie won’t be up for another hour or so yet. Let me make it up to you?”

  Our mouths brushed against each other, the ghost of a kiss that I found myself both yearning for and dreading all at once.

  “Coffee first,” I breathed, pulling away.

  Alton blinked, sensing my hesitation and backing off immediately. I had to hand it to him—most Alphas would have just pressed on, ignoring all the little signals my body was firing off. Hoping to distract me from whatever was going on. But Alton didn’t force it. He simply backed away, handing me my coffee cup and nodding in acceptance.

  “Of course. Don’t want to start your day without…” He glanced down at the cup, and the look of concern set in his brow quickly melted into something darker that I couldn’t place. “I…um. I… Let me get you a different cup.”

  “What’s wrong with this one?” I asked, reaching for it even as he pulled it away.

  “Nothing—it’s just—” Alton breathed out a long breath, bracing himself against the counter before trading my mug for the one he’d poured for himself. “It’s nothing. Here. Have mine.”

  I took the mug from him, glancing down at the unadorned ceramic and feeling more confused than ever. Now we were both being weird—the last thing anyone needed to feel after a night of passion, multiplied by two.

  “Okay…” I eked out, sipping from Alton’s mug instead. I watched him dump the coffee from the HANDSOME mug into another cup before he moved to the sink, washing my mug out with care. It was obvious that I’d chosen the wrong coffee cup—and since I doubted Alton would be so clingy about his own drinkware, the answer was obvious. It had been Patrick’s. It must have been. “Um. Okay. So, any…plans? For today?”

  “Taking Lizzie to dance class. Going over some stuff before Hayward’s dinner. Nothing important.” His voice was measured. Gruff. He didn’t even look at me as he dried the mug off, placing it back into the cabinet like it was the holy grail itself, not just a kitschy coffee mug with a cute word painted on its surface. “You?”

  “Yeah, I’ll… I dunno. Swing by the Ballroom to pick up my schedule for next week, I guess.” I paused, feeling that strange tension between us now growing by the second. First the sleeptalking, now this mug thing. Shit—this couldn’t be good. “I’ve asked for next Saturday off.”

  “Yeah? Yeah, good.”

  “…If you still want me to come along, I mean,” I added, testing the waters. I didn’t want to come out and just say it: You were talking about your late husband in your sleep and now you’re acting like I desecrated a fucking church over a coffee mug. It didn’t seem right, addressing whatever strangeness had passed between Alton and me—but I couldn’t exactly not address it either. It was all too palpable. Visceral. Too real—in all the wrong ways.

  He glanced down at me finally as he closed the cabinet. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Well…” I shrugged, sipping at the coffee then placing it down on the counter. “I guess…I don’t know. You feel it too, don’t you? This…”

  Alton watched my fingers as I gestured to the space between us, which suddenly felt like it had formed a vacuum. Devoid of air, life—certainly of any of the passion we’d shared last night.

  His lips turned downward, heavy brows sinking lower than ever. “Yeah. I…I don’t know that I can talk about it right now. I’m sorry.”

  “So am I,” I replied, even though I didn’t know exactly what I was apologizing for.

  “Don’t be.” He pushed the mugs aside on the counter, then took my hands in his. His touch was stran
gely cold, but it still echoed that tenderness he’d always had toward me. From that first night we’d met right up into this weirdness between us now. “I think…there’s no way that this isn’t complicated, I guess. It’s not your fault, though. I promise. Not to be cliché, but…”

  “It’s not you, it’s me?” I gave a harsh little laugh that came out even harsher than I meant it to.

  “It’s entirely me,” Alton promised, working his fingers into the spaces between mine. “Give me a little bit to…straighten out my head? I’m so sorry, Eliot, I just…”

  “No, no. It’s fine,” I promised, dodging his kiss and slipping away from him. “I’m going to head out. You do what you need to do.”

  “We’re still on for Saturday?” he asked, a twinge of hope in his voice as he watched me head for the door.

  “Yeah. Of course.” I forced another smile, this one even weaker than the last. “Apologize to Lizzie for me, okay? I think she wheedled a promise of pancakes for breakfast from me last night, but…”

  He nodded, wistful sadness brimming from his hazel eyes. “Of course. Maybe next time.”

  I made it to the door like there was a fire on my heels, casting a final glance back over my shoulder as I passed through its frame. “Maybe next time,” I agreed.

  But something in the tightness of my chest and the pounding of my heart made even that agreement feel off.

  I’d known it wasn’t going to be easy, making things work with Alton. He was obviously still in love with Patrick—and I couldn’t be angry at him for that. Not even if I wanted to.