by A. M. Arthur
And he was loving every second of it.
* * *
Alessandro had never seen Jaime look sexier, more alive than while they danced. And when Ezra came over and added himself to their duo, Alessandro nearly combusted from the sight of it. He didn’t know Ezra well—well enough to know he lived up to the promise of those thrusting hips—but he drew something new out of Jaime. Not exhibitionism, exactly. It was deeper than that, more private, but no less desirable. Jaime wanted to be touched, to be wanted, and he moved between them like a man in a pleasurable trance.
The looks being thrown at their trio, as well as the glares of jealousy, only spurred Alessandro on. He thrust his throbbing cock against Jaime’s ass, wishing he could be pressing inside for real, making it clear to their audience that he’d been there and was going there again. He wanted to brand Jaime, to make sure everyone knew he was taken. That Alessandro was the only one taking him home—fucking him—tonight.
Jaime was already on board with that plan. Anything else he wanted to try was still negotiable.
Ezra licked along Jaime’s jaw, moving closer to his mouth. As much as Alessandro did not want to see Jaime kiss someone else, that wasn’t his limit to impose. He moved with the music, with them, watching. Irritation prickling. Ezra kissed Jaime’s cheek, then the side of mouth. Closer.
Jaime turned his face away, dropping his head back to rest on Alessandro’s shoulder, and a silent cheer erupted inside of him. Ezra made a snack out of Jaime’s neck, but Jaime had denied access to his mouth. He turned his head. The angle was funny, but Alessandro kissed him. Thoroughly. He tasted Pepsi. He tasted Jaime. The kiss was as much a claiming as a sharing between them and no one else.
They ended the kiss. Jaime opened his eyes long enough to meet his. The light and lust in Jaime’s eyes made Alessandro’s heart clench hard, because of it looked an awful lot like love.
“Let me buy you boys a drink,” Ezra said a while later, his words cutting through the trance of their dancing.
“Pepsi,” Jaime said. “Whiskey sour for Alè.”
Ezra winked and slipped away. Another boy close in age, with longish black hair, slid in to take his place. Jaime glanced back, silently asking if this was okay, and Alessandro nodded. They created a new trio with the new boy. Ezra’s return transformed their dancing cluster into an awkward quartet. Alessandro gulped at his drink, as much for the liquid as the lightness that came with alcohol. He was burning it off quickly, probably too quickly to get really drunk, but a third sour found his hand as soon as the second was gone.
Their quartet divided itself, and Alessandro was dancing hip to hip with Ezra, with Jaime and the black-haired boy next to them. Ezra’s hands drifted down to grope his ass, and the hard cock bumping into his reminded him of when Ezra had fucked him. Alessandro was a switch, and while he loved fucking, he truly enjoyed being fucked by someone who knew what they were doing. And while he wanted Jaime to top him one day, he also worried that Jaime would be so nervous that the attempt would be a disaster.
The mental image of someone else, Ezra even, letting Jaime fuck them while Alessandro coached him through it shot a dagger of lust through him, so sharp his insides ached with it. Not that he would ever bring up the fantasy with Jaime. That would be a good way to get his ass dumped.
“How did you end up with the hottest piece of ass in the whole bar?” Ezra asked.
“You have a high opinion of yourself,” Alessandro said, laughing.
“Not me, sugar, the cutie with the red lips.”
“Jaime.”
“Jaime. I think everyone here wants to take a bite out of him.”
“Wanting isn’t getting.”
“So true, sugar. So fucking true.”
A third dancer had joined Black Hair to create another delicious Jaime sandwich. The only difference now was that Jaime danced with his eyes wide open, occasionally shooting inquiring looks at Alessandro, as if asking for permission now that Alessandro was no longer touching him.
“I don’t suppose you two like bringing in thirds,” Ezra said.
“It’s never come up before.”
“Then consider it an open offer.”
“Noted.”
Alessandro drained the last of his third drink, and the dance floor got a little soft beneath him. He cursed himself for not eating more at supper, but he’d been crazy nervous before picking up Jaime. Ezra noticed and led him over to the wall so he could lean against something more stable than a listing body. Jaime tracked him the entire way, and he didn’t seem to relax again until Alessandro nodded at him.
Permission asked. Permission granted. Jaime kept dancing, flirting and grinding, while Alessandro watched. Ezra disappeared, then returned with a cup of water for Alessandro to sip. His head cleared quickly. He could have returned to the dance floor, only he liked this vantage point better.
At some point Jaime lost his Henley. The white undershirt was high-necked, probably to hide his surgical scar, but it showed off the long, thin length of his arms, and the flatness of his stomach. It left a little less to the imagination. Ezra left him to return to the fray, but he didn’t go back to Jaime. He danced nearby, observing, almost looking out for him.
The big guy with the leather vest and cheesy Irish pickup line nudged his way into the small group dancing with Jaime. He said something to Black Hair that sent him scampering off toward the front of the bar. Alessandro stood straighter, but a traveling group of bears blocked his view for a little too long. He pushed off the wall and wove his way around the burly men who were toasting something in fantastically awful Irish accents.
Leather Vest had cornered Jaime at the end of the dance floor, near the DJ booth. He was speaking, and from the wide-eyed look on Jaime’s face, it wasn’t something he was into. Jaime had frozen in place. Alessandro shoved his way forward, his temper rising. It boiled over when he spotted Leather Vest’s hand cupping Jaime’s groin—and Jaime seemed lost as to what to do about it, when Leather Vest had about sixty pounds on him.
Which meant he had about forty pounds on Alessandro, and he didn’t really care when he gave the guy a hard shove away from Jaime. “Back off,” Alessandro snarled.
“We were just talking,” Leather Vest said.
“Looked more like groping to me.”
“So? The little twink’s been enjoying himself so far tonight. I was making him an offer, that’s all.”
“All offers go through me, buddy.”
“You his fucking keeper?”
“No, I’m his fucking boyfriend.” Alessandro had never called himself that out loud before, and saying it felt absolutely right. He hoped Jaime didn’t disagree.
Leather Vest held up his hands in surrender, then merged into the dancing crowd. Ezra was watching them from a distance, but Alessandro waved him off. Everything was under control. He hoped. He turned to face Jaime, stunned to see a look of shy adoration on his face.
“Boyfriend?” Jaime asked, as though trying out the word for the first time.
He didn’t try to correct himself or play it off. He wasn’t supposed to be falling for Jaime, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t happening anyway. “I know we never really talked about using the word, but I hope that’s okay.”
“It is.” Jaime yanked him into a hard kiss that awoke the hard-on he’d never really lost. The kiss turned into a grinding dance, and they wrapped themselves up in each other for a while.
They danced until they were exhausted. Ezra and Black Hair—whose name was Romy—joined them in a booth to demolish two plates of loaded nachos, as well as a pitcher of Guinness. Soon Alessandro had to take a piss. Romy announced he had to go, too, and the pair of them headed toward the bathrooms in the back.
“Sorry about David before,” Romy said as they wound their way through the dance floor. He practically shouted in Alessandro’s ear.
“Who’s David?” Alessandro asked.
“Big guy in the vest.”
Irritation prickled his scalp
. He shoved open the bathroom door. “Right.”
The bathroom had a long trench urinal, instead of individuals, and about half the length was occupied. Six stalls lined the opposite wall, four doors locked shut. Two of them had more than one pair of feet visible beneath the door.
He nudged his way into a spot to piss, and nearly rolled his eyes when Romy moved in next to him. Releasing all that liquid was amazing.
“David’s a Dom, so he comes across pretty intense,” Romy continued, as if Alessandro had asked. “He’s not super into the scene, but he likes to play. And he’s good at it.”
“Okay.” He didn’t give a shit what David liked to do in bed. David had been too aggressive with Jaime, and he’d put a stop to it. End of story.
He shook off and tucked his dick away. The tight jeans were a little tricky and not what he was used to. He started pulling up his zipper, and a hand grabbed his wrist. He glanced up, too surprised to be annoyed. Romy watched him with wide, puppy dog eyes that probably worked on the guys who liked their twinks pale-skinned and dark-haired.
“I want to blow you,” Romy whispered in a smooth, seductive cadence.
Alessandro’s cock perked at the offer. A month ago, he’d have dragged Romy into one of the stalls and let him suck him off. Maybe even take him back to his place and fuck him for a few hours. Not tonight. Probably not for the near future, either.
“Some other time,” Alessandro said, then went to wash his hands.
Romy followed him to the sink. His expression had changed, shifting from lusty to triumphant. “I thought so.”
“You thought what?”
“He’s adorable, sweetie. Congrats.”
“Huh?” Alessandro stopped rinsing his hands.
Romy just giggled. “You’re falling in love with him,” he said in a stage whisper, then flounced out of the bathroom.
Alessandro stared at the closing door, feeling a bit like he’d just been punched in the stomach—and completely unable to deny what Romy had said.
Chapter Thirteen
Jaime had never felt more alive than he did tonight, dancing and flirting in Pot O Gold. He’d thought nothing could be more life affirming, more pleasurable, than sex—and sex with Alessandro was fifty kinds of amazing—until now. Until he went out onto that dance floor and fell into the music. Until he had the eyes and hands of strangers admiring him, wanting him, making him feel sexy and desirable.
And he was safe. Even when the guy in the leather vest got a little aggressive and gropey, he hadn’t panicked because Alessandro was nearby. Having Alessandro there, watching him, upped the sensuality of it all. He didn’t have to ask Alessandro permission to dance with other men, or to touch the other men. He wanted to ask. The silent game had only made him harder, more amped.
They’d unexpectedly acquired two friends for the rest of the evening. Dancing between Romy and Ezra had been a wet dream come true. He especially liked Ezra, who was the complete physical opposite of Alessandro. Seeing the pair of them dancing together earlier had nearly made him come in his jeans.
He’d relaxed into his side of the booth to drink his soda when Ezra leaned across the table, his blue eyes twinkling. “So you two must have a fabulous sex life,” Ezra said.
Jaime nearly choked on a piece of ice. He still wasn’t used to the casual way some people talked about sex, especially in public. “We do, yeah,” he replied. He could think of about a dozen words that were better than fabulous to describe sex with Alessandro.
“He’s got a gorgeous cock.”
The comment sent a funny tremor through Jaime’s insides. He put his glass down before he dropped it. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Alessandro had had sex with some of the men here—he’d had a life long before Jaime came along—but it did. Suddenly the fantasy of Ezra and Alessandro together was a little less exciting because it had actually happened.
“It was only one time,” Ezra said, as though trying to reassure him. “I don’t do boyfriends, sugar, don’t worry. Never thought our Alè was the type, either, but I do love surprises.”
Alessandro’s fierce proclamation of “I’m his fucking boyfriend” rang in Jaime’s head, and pride swelled in his chest. “Alè’s great,” Jaime said. A little lame, but so true.
“Yes, he is. And he has such a fabulously tight little ass, too.”
That odd tremor returned, and he couldn’t understand the reason for his sudden wave of…jealousy? It seemed less of an issue when he thought Alessandro had fucked Ezra. Why did it bother him to know Ezra had been inside Alessandro?
Because you haven’t.
Alessandro said on multiple occasions that he’d let Jaime fuck him, if he ever wanted to. But Jaime loved being fucked. He loved the feeling of a hard dick inside of him, driving him to an orgasm. Of letting Alessandro be in control. And Alessandro seemed perfectly happy to be the one topping.
Ezra shoved the pitcher of beer over and leaned forward. “Haven’t you fucked him yet?”
“Not yet.” Adding yet to the end made his statement seem a little less pathetic than a flat out denial.
“Oh, sugar, he loves it. Give it to him nice and hard, and he’ll go crazy.”
Just the way Jaime liked it, too. He truly enjoyed bottoming. He’d always assumed that Alessandro was happy topping, but what if he wasn’t? Did he have the slightest chance of keeping Alessandro if he couldn’t be everything Alessandro wanted? If he couldn’t give him everything he needed?
“Thanks for the advice.” He kind of wanted to throw his soda in Ezra’s smiling face.
“And I’ll extend the same offer to you that I gave to Alessandro earlier. If you’re ever in the mood to add a third, I’m at your service.”
It took Jaime a few seconds to understand what he meant by third—and then he blushed. Dancing with two men at once was one thing, but sex with two? He’d seen a few group sex porn videos, but how did that work in reality? The idea of sharing Alessandro with someone didn’t send up the same jealousy flares as before. In fact, it sent brand-new signals straight to his dick. Maybe he could never bring himself to actually participate in a threesome, but damn, the fantasy was getting him hard again.
“Oooh, I think he likes the idea,” Ezra said to no one in particular.
Jaime couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so he drank his soda. Romy and Alessandro returned, one after the other. Alessandro slid in next to Jaime, close enough that their legs touched, and put a hand on his thigh. Romy said something to Ezra that made them both laugh.
A few minutes of idle conversation passed, and then Ezra said, “So, you boys interested in taking this party back to my place? I have the second floor of a brownstone all to myself.” He winked at Jaime. “Two bedrooms, if that helps.”
Alessandro’s hand squeezed his thigh a little tighter. Jaime met his inquiring gaze, unable to read the hidden message in that touch. Something curious and aroused burned deep in Alessandro’s brown eyes, tempered by the patience of someone who liked what he had too much to risk scaring it off. Everyone at the table seemed to be looking to Jaime to take them somewhere, whether it was to Ezra’s place, or back out onto the dance floor. Jaime didn’t think he was up for any sort of crazy group sex, but he hadn’t really thought through the rest of the night’s plans.
“He did offer us a place to crash earlier,” Alessandro said quietly. “Unless you want to dance some more.”
He wanted to dance. He also wanted to tackle Alessandro to the floor and kiss him until they both couldn’t breathe. He wanted to be everything Alessandro needed so this thing they had would last.
He wanted way more than he could have.
“I’m ready to go if you are,” Jaime said.
“Fantastic,” Ezra said. He grabbed his beer mug and pounded it back. Romy did the same. Alessandro didn’t.
“It’s only two blocks from here,” Ezra said as their quartet hit the sidewalk. “We can hoof it.”
“Okay,” Alessandro said.
He slid his arm around Jaime’s waist, and they walked together. The street was less crowded than it had been a few hours ago, and Jaime worried about being so close. But no one gave them funny looks. The air outside was significantly cooler, but a fantastic relief after the stifling heat of the bar.
Ezra and Romy joked and teased each other the entire two blocks, until Ezra led them up the steps of a stone building in the middle of a block of identical homes. He unlocked the door, then led them up a steep, narrow staircase in the building’s foyer. On the small landing, he unlocked the only door there and let them inside.
Like the building, the apartment was long and narrow. The entry was the kitchen, a room of convenience more than function, with a minifridge and countertop microwave. Farther inside was an open living room with two couches angled to worship a giant, boxy, fifteen-year-old flat-screen television that had been the latest thing in home entertainment once upon a time. Past the living room were two doors, probably to the bedrooms.
The one thing Jaime didn’t see was what he desperately needed. “Where’s your bathroom?” he asked.
“Over here.” Ezra led him through the kitchenette and pointed to a door beneath the slope of what had to be the foyer staircase.
“Thanks.”
He shut himself inside the tiny space. The toilet was situated under the slope, with barely enough headroom to not hunch over while standing. A small freestanding sink and a single-person glass shower took the rest of the square footage. Functional, but definitely not roomy. Whoever had converted the house into apartments hadn’t given the bathroom a lot of thought.
The pipes rattled loudly when he flushed. He took a moment to study himself in the mirror over the sink. He didn’t look any different than he had yesterday, except for the clothes, which were a little too tight and sweaty. He didn’t see himself as attractive at all, and yet men had been falling over themselves to dance with him tonight. It didn’t really matter what they saw, he supposed, since he’d gone home with the one he wanted. The one who’d declared them boyfriends to a perfect stranger.
