Top Secret

by Sarina Bowen

  Laughing, I pause in front of the hostess again. “That was totally worth it. Thank you for that.”

  “Happens at least once an hour,” she says with a grin. “I suppose we could change the names to make things more obvious.”

  “But where’s the fun in that?” I point out.

  We high-five each other just as a new song starts up. It’s that Sam Smith song, “Promises.” I turn toward the stage instinctively. A very loud, very female shriek of joy rises over the music as a hot guy with dark hair saunters onto the stage in a crisp white shirt, skin-tight gray trousers, a matching suit jacket and a red tie. And then I do a vicious double-take.

  Unless I’m losing my mind, it’s Luke-fucking-Bailey.

  I’m vaguely aware of my jaw hanging open as he saunters, barefoot, toward a desk and chair that have been rolled onto the stage. Sam Smith is already singing about all the things he wants to do for me as Luke begins to move his hips to the sensuous beat.

  Jesus. The music runs through his body like a current. He’s barely dancing, and yet the movements are somehow a hundred and ten percent sex as he sheds the suit coat and flings it over the chair. Then he loosens the tie. It’s almost casual, as if he’s alone with the music and the swing of his hips to the sexy beat.

  The women shriek like they’ve all won a car from Oprah.

  And I can’t look away. I’m rooted to the floor as Luke slides the silk tie from his collar with a slow, sensual pull. A shiver runs up my spine, as if I can feel it myself—the slide of the silk over cotton.

  On stage, his gaze is distant. There’s no eye contact with the crowd. He doesn’t pander, because he doesn’t need to. Every eye in the room is already fixed on his fingers as they slowly unbutton that lucky shirt, while his hips circle and grind.

  The effect is entirely voyeuristic, as if I’m watching his private thoughts as he prepares for sex.

  Then he casts the shirt away and springs into action, hopping onto the desk with one gravity-defying leap. A spotlight illuminates those golden abs as they ripple and flex. And he slides a hand past his cock as if he can’t quite stand how sexy he is.

  I can’t quite stand it, either.

  The crowd loses its mind as he rotates, showing off those tight trousers as a hundred women sigh. It’s fucking genius, because this is some serious wish fulfillment right here. Luke is playing the role of the hot CEO. He can provide for you, and then come home to make you scream.

  Oh, and now we can also appreciate that he’s well hung, because those skintight pants reveal every ridge and bulge of his gorgeous body.

  Take them off, my libido begs. And then take mine off, too.

  I told Luke that most of me wants to hook up with him again. That’s not the case anymore. All of me wants it. Right here, right now—I’ve never wanted anything, or anyone, more.

  Goodbye, sexual confusion. Because confused is the last thing I’m feeling at the moment. There’s no other way around it—I like dudes. Especially that one onstage.

  While I’m having this eureka moment, Luke takes a deep breath, and then turns in the direction of a metal pole that’s maybe six feet from the desk. My poor little brain is just doing that math when Bailey leaps through the air like a sideways Superman, arms first, catching the pole in both hands.

  And then he just sort of hangs there, legs out straight, body perpendicular to the pole. The maneuver requires either incredible core strength or a special insider’s arrangement with gravity.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” I sputter, wondering how that’s even physically possible.

  A throat is cleared beside me.

  I whirl around, but it’s only the hostess watching me with an amused expression on her face. “Maybe you’re in the right room after all?”

  Shit. “Sorry.” I feel blood rushing to my face as I try to recover myself. My frat brothers are long gone.

  But I can’t resist one more look at the stage. Bailey has a leg around the bar now. He’s spinning slowly, almost casually, his muscles rippling while the women scream. Dollar bills are falling on stage like a blizzard.

  I force myself to look away, leaving the club the way I came. The January cold smacks me as I step outside. I suck in the chilly air, trying to cool off my overheated body. It takes me a minute to put my game face back on.

  Finally, I cross to Jack’s and open the door, spotting Tanner striding toward me. “What happened to you, man? I was gonna send out a search party.”

  “Checking the car,” I mutter. “Thought I forgot to lock it.”

  His arm lands on my shoulders. “Come in, already. I got you a beer. This place is sick.”

  I let him pull me toward a table where my brothers are all sitting, goggle-eyed at the women dancing in various places around the room. The women are all wearing G-strings and very little else. But I don’t even see them. I’m stuck inside my head, which has become a very complicated place.

  Luke Bailey is a stripper. Male entertainer. Whatever it’s called. That’s how he knew the women he recruited for his Dance-off dinner. They’re his coworkers.

  What’s more shocking—the fact that Bailey takes off his clothes for money? Or that I want him to take off mine?

  I settle in for a long evening of watching women shake their butts while I nurse two beers and a big secret. No, two secrets. One about Luke, and one about me.

  Music. Loud Music.

  Luke

  In the winter, I don’t ride my motorcycle on the highway, which means I’m stuck using the bus to get to work. The worst part of my commute home from work is the last quarter mile. When I get off the bus near the student center, my muscles have already stiffened up, and the January wind bites my face.

  I trudge through the two a.m. silence. When I unlock the door to the frat house, there’s a blue glow coming from the TV room. I pass three guys playing a video game. But otherwise the house is quiet as I climb two flights of stairs to reach my door. I unlock it in the dark.

  My bed beckons, but first I need a shower. Without ceremony, I drop all my clothes and head into the bathroom. The hot spray of water is like a lover’s embrace. I pump a generous handful of shampoo and scrub off all the sweat and body oil until finally I feel human again.

  When I turn off the shower, I hear music. Loud music.

  Seriously? Keaton is blasting tunes this late at night? I’m going to choke him.

  Hastily, I rub the towel all over my wet head, then tie it around my waist, ready to give him hell. But as I leave the bathroom, I freeze. That song. It’s “Promises” by Sam Smith and Calvin Harris.

  A chill snakes down my spine, because this can’t be a coincidence. Mr. Classic Rock wouldn’t develop a sudden affinity for my solo song two hours after I perform to it.

  Would he?

  As I stand there on the landing, trying to figure out what to do, I notice that Keaton has shut the door to the stairs, yet left the door to his room ajar. I take a step toward his door, nudging it open.

  It’s dark in Keaton’s room, save for the glow of his stereo system and the streetlights outside. But it’s enough to show me Keaton’s very naked body lying among the tangled sheets.

  “What the fuck are you playing at?” I hiss. “With this song. Are you threatening me right now?”

  He sits up partway, leaning on one muscular arm. “Do I look like a fucking threat?” He drops a hand to his hard cock and strokes it. “Get over here.”

  Blood pounds in my…everything. But it’s unclear whether I’m feeling more anger or arousal. Yeah, a naked Keaton is a beautiful thing. But you do not fuck with me over my job.

  I cross the room to his expensive speakers and lower the volume. “Talk,” I bark. “Why this song? Where were you tonight?”

  “Where do you think? The guys walked into the wrong club for a second. And I’ve been hard ever since.”

  I look down again because it’s late and I’m weak. His thick hand is wrapped around his girth. The memory of taking him in my mouth hits
me like a blast of heat. I close my eyes and try to concentrate on what matters. “Who was with you?”

  “Bunch of guys. They didn’t see.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. Jesus.” Keaton flops onto the pillows. “Who cares, anyway? You’re like sexy Spiderman, and all the ladies were screaming for you.”

  With a snort, I stalk toward the bed, looking down at him, letting my anger win. “As usual, Keaton Hayworth the third, you have no clue how the real world works. I can’t become an internet joke right before I start applying for jobs.”

  Keaton sighs. “You’re mad? Of course you are. It’s your default reaction to everything.” He tucks his hands behind his head, his beautiful body on display. “Fine. Get down here and punish me for daring to think you’re hot when you dance. I guess the private performance I had planned is off?”

  “Punish you?” My voice cracks on the words, because it’s late and…

  Fine, I like that idea a whole lot. Sue me. I close his bedroom door and lock it.

  When I turn around, he’s grinning at me, like he just won some kind of bet with himself.

  “Smug is not a good look on you,” I say, moving to stand over him. “Take off my towel.”

  “It is too a good look on me.” He props himself up on an elbow in a big hurry. Then he reaches out and gives my towel a quick tug. “Aw, look who wants my body,” he says as my semi bobs into view.

  “Shut up.” I put a knee on the bed. “I have something better you can do with your mouth.” I palm the back of his neck and give him a destabilizing tug.

  In a flash I’ve knelt in front of him at just the right height. “Oh, shit,” he breathes as I wind my fingers into his hair, pulling him toward me.

  Just the way he’s looking at me—his eyelids heavy with both curiosity and lust—gets me to full mast by the time I feel his breath on my sensitive skin. “Let’s have that smart mouth do something useful,” I say as his tongue makes its first pass across my shaft.

  And good God, the view! Keaton’s aristocratic face descending toward my cock. He moans quietly as he opens his mouth and experiments with taking the head inside.

  I break out in a sweat as his tongue tastes me. And I bite my lip as he hollows out his cheeks and sucks. My fingers tangle in his soft hair as he slowly bobs up and down, looking for a rhythm.

  “Good…boy,” I gasp. I thought I was tired. But hello, adrenaline. I catch myself moving slowly to the song. My song. Keaton’s big hand finds my hip as he angles his face to take more of me.

  This beats the snot out of my usual Friday-night routine.

  He doesn’t try to deep-throat me, but he doesn’t hesitate to use one hand to play with my balls. He does this casually, like maybe he’s spent a lot of time thinking about how much he wants to taste my cock.

  I’m in awe that this is actually happening. A little too in awe, maybe. After just a couple of minutes of the star treatment, I feel my climax gathering like a storm. But I’m wide awake and feeling greedy now. I’m not ready for this to end. So I nudge him off me, and he looks up with wild, hungry eyes. “Not good?” he asks roughly.

  “Too good,” I assure him, running a hand through his unruly hair that I’ve already messed up. “What are you down for?”

  “Honestly? Anything.”

  I lift his handsome chin. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

  “What if I do?” He rolls onto his back, his expression an odd mixture of shy and confident. “I have condoms and lube.”

  “Seriously?” A wave of heat rolls through my body. “You want me to top you?”

  “Yeah, I do. And quickly.” He bends one knee, the invitation unmistakable. “Before we both figure out how awkward this will get later.”

  He’s not wrong. And maybe if it wasn’t two in the morning, and I wasn’t hard as a crowbar I would make a different call. The whole setup is irresistible. Hot frat brother who wants to be fucked? They make gay porn like this because real life doesn’t actually work this way.

  Except tonight it does.

  Keaton reaches one of those muscular arms out to yank open the nightstand. And I’m already there, spreading my body out on top of his massive chest, reaching into the drawer. My hand closes around a bottle and a strip of condoms, and I drop them onto the bed beside our bodies.

  His hands are busy doing other things, like coasting over my ass and pulling me closer. I lower my mouth to his in a blistering kiss. He grunts happily, and I take advantage of his parting lips, finding his tongue with mine. Christ, I like kissing him. Our cocks line up together. I love how hard he is for me.

  I want to flip him over and drill him hard, but I don’t do that. This is his first time, so I opt for a slow approach, stroking my hands over his body as we kiss. I lightly tease the crease of his ass. And although my fingers are gentle, my words are rough and dirty. “You ready for my dick to fill this sweet ass?”

  “Yes,” he chokes out.

  “Are you gonna freak out tomorrow?”

  “Dunno,” he pants, kissing me again. “I’ll just deal with that tomorrow.”

  Okay, then. His eagerness is such a turn-on. I grab the condom, prepping myself, but I don’t fuck him yet. I get him ready, sliding a lube-covered finger into his tight passage. I tease and explore, and he’s gasping for air by the time I add a second finger.

  “Stop teasing,” he mumbles. “Give it to me.”

  I lick my bottom lip, then bend over to suck on the head of his cock. His hips jerk off the mattress, but the moan he gives is laced with frustration. “Not your mouth. Give me your cock.”

  I lift my head and offer a lazy smile. “Why should I do that?”

  “Because I want it.” His cheeks are flushed with arousal, and he’s beginning to squirm against my fingers. “More importantly, because you want it.” His hazel eyes linger pointedly on my raging hard-on.

  But then I remember what seems to turn him on even more. “I might give it to you if you ask me nicely.”

  He huffs out a breath. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Please fuck me,” he groans.

  I slap his ass just once, but hard. “Is this mine?”

  He gasps. “Yes. Do it.”

  God, it’s so gratifying to see how needy I’ve made him. I rise on my knees and guide my erection to where it’s pleading to be. Keaton’s eyelids grow heavy as he awaits my next move. He looks hot as fuck lying there beneath me. I’m tempted to reach over and flick on the bedside lamp, but the darkness also has its appeal. Fucking in the dark always makes everything so…dirty. Dangerous.

  My pulse races as I slowly ease the tip of my dick inside the tightest ass I’ve ever encountered. Holy shit. I won’t last long at all. This already feels impossibly good, and I’ve only begun.

  “Ohhhh fuck,” Keaton whispers as I slide in another inch. “That’s…different.”

  I choke out a laugh. “Different bad, or different good?”

  “Different. Awkward. But also amazing. Go deeper.”

  So I do. I lean forward on my elbows and give a slow thrust, and then another, until his body gives way and I’m buried all the way inside. Oh boy oh boy. Yup, this isn’t going to take long.

  I ease my body forward until I can brush a kiss over his lips before whispering, “Your ass is so goddamn tight. I’m about five strokes away from coming.”

  Keaton nips at the side of my throat. “That’s no fun.” And then he lifts his hips in a tentative thrust, and I see stars.

  I dig my fingers into his waist to stop him from moving. “Tell you what’s gonna happen,” I say in a raspy voice. “You’re gonna start jacking that big cock while I’m lodged inside you. You’re gonna get yourself close, but you don’t come until I tell you to, okay?”

  He nods wordlessly, watching me with lust-glazed eyes. His breathing sounds labored as he lowers his hand to his groin.

  Keaton starts stroking himself, and I swallow a groan. I’m aching to move,
but I’m skirting too close to the edge right now. So I satisfy myself by watching him satisfy himself.

  I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything so sexy.

  Taking a slow breath, I sit back and begin to move. I wrap my arms around his thick thighs and pump my hips. And I know immediately when I’ve hit his prostate, because his hand falters and he lets out a helpless gasp.

  “Right there,” I whisper. “That’s where you need me.”

  “Omifuckinggod,” he rasps, shivering.

  I knock his hand out of the way and reach for his cock. “You want to come?”

  “Yes,” he grits out, moving his hips. “So bad.”

  “Hold on.” I bite my lip and look away from him as I thrust hard again. He’s too hot for words—all blissed out and panting for me. Every slide of my cock threatens to undo me. I jack him and pound him at the same time.

  I can’t hang on. It’s just too good. Tension coils in my balls and I feel the edge of pleasure slicing toward me.

  “Come,” I grunt through gritted teeth. “Now, Hayworth.”

  He lets out a strangled cry and then all his muscles tense at once.

  And I’m done. My climax catches up to me and I lose my rhythm as I come helplessly, emptying my whole soul into his tight body and then landing awkwardly on his torso.

  Two big hands yank me higher up his chest. His eager tongue invades my mouth just as hot semen erupts between us. I grind down on his trapped cock, and he groans loudly into the kiss.

  “Christ,” I slur against his lips a moment later, while my heart rate tries and fails to settle down.

  Keaton nudges me off him, and I have to pull out to move. With clumsy hands I remove the condom and tie it off, barely opening my eyes.

  He actually takes it from me and disappears. My head is heavy on his pillow. I need to get up but my limbs are too tired.

  I’m contemplating moving when Keaton returns. He bends over me, and I wonder if he’s about to suggest that I leave. But he kisses my neck instead. Then a warm washcloth makes a quick pass over my abs and chest.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, still needing to move.