Always Desire (The Always Series Book 4)

by J. P. James

  The lively sounds of “Mamma Mia” pop from my piano as I lean toward the microphone and sing along to one of my favorite show tunes.

  It’s late, and I’ve been at it for half the night, but I still have about two more hours to go. Despite the sparse crowd in the bar, I’m trying to be cheerful. It’s hard, but “Mamma Mia” helps.

  The words of the song come easily to my lips, and so do the notes I play on the gorgeous baby grand set up in the center of Playing Desires. I smile and play and pretend that most of the tables in the place aren’t empty. A lot of the customers ignore me, which suits me just fine. At least I get to practice on a real baby grand piano since I can’t afford to have one of my own.

  Practice for what? a little voice at the back of my head mocks. You think you’re going to make something of yourself?

  But I know for what. To go back to school. To finish what I started years ago but didn’t complete because of a little thing called a nervous breakdown. The idea of going back to school now makes me so damn jittery, but it’s what I want. Hopefully this time, I’ll be ready.

  But it’s not just my nerves; I also don’t know how I’ll fit in with those young kids now. After all, I’m almost twenty-eight, a full ten years older than most of my would-be classmates. I’ll stick out among those kids like a sore thumb. My lower lip burns as I nibble it nervously. But my hands on the piano don’t falter because they never do. Music is my life, and it lifts me up when times are dark.

  Smiling at my audience, I sing out the chorus to the song, hoping it’ll bring smiles to the customers’ faces.

  But none of them even as much as twitch. Most droop against the bar and sink into their drinks, paying for round after round of watered-down alcohol – one way that the owner, Milton, is trying to save money. But that cheapskate tactic is obviously just driving customers away. Even in the eight months I’ve been here, I swear the number of people here has dropped by about half.

  Poor Milton. It sucks, but I don’t think he realizes where he’s going wrong. Suddenly, a voice rings out from the back of the bar.

  “Milt, we can’t keep going like this,” says the manager Chris.

  The owner pulls a face. “Says who?”

  Chris merely shrugs. “Business isn’t good, you can see that yourself. The drinks taste like they come straight from a sewer, and your chef in back isn’t making a damn thing anybody wants to eat. You’re lucky that kid hasn’t burned down this place by accident yet. He looks about old enough to graduate from elementary school.”

  “That little shit should be grateful I even hired him,” Milton grumps back at his manager. “Nobody else would take him on.”

  “Oh, gee. I wonder why?” Chris says with an arched eyebrow. “Maybe it’s because he looks about ten years old. Or maybe, it’s because the little dude can’t cook.”

  Oh my god. I cringe away from the sound of raised voices and dart my eyes around the place. Half of the people are looking at Milt and Chris as they argue, their voices growing louder by the minute. The other half look too drunk to care about anything but the alcohol in front of them.

  But even I can hear every word that Milton and Chris are saying to one another from where I’m sitting. Don’t these guys know to keep it down? I thought they were experienced running entertainment venues, but evidently not. It’s that they don’t care anymore, or maybe they’re just too desperate now. I don’t know.

  Guided by my fingers, the piano plays on. Music tinkles and I slap a happy grin on my face even as my mind drifts. God, to be anywhere but here tonight. A sigh slips past my lips, but the jovial music swallows the sound.

  Plus, it’s not like I can afford to be choosy. Rent in New York isn’t cheap, and although my seventh-floor walk-up in Brooklyn isn’t much of a palace, it’s still expensive enough for me to groan out loud when it comes time to pay the bills each month.

  But evidently, I’m not the only one with money problems. The voices from the back rise again.

  “I need to get more money from someplace. I don’t have a choice!” Milton’s voice sounds fearful this time instead of angry. Something must really be spooking him. A sympathetic shiver of anxiety races down my spine.

  What’s going on with him? The easy-going guy I’d interviewed with a few months ago is completely gone. Instead, he comes into work twitchy and looking around as if someone’s stalking him. He barely even says hello to me when he walks in anymore. Milt’s like a whole different person.

  Of course, his fears aren’t completely unfounded. A couple months ago, a portly dude in a suit came in with a couple of huge dudes who could only be bodyguards. The man had a brief conversation with Milton, during which Milt went from red to white, and then back to red. After that meeting, Milt’s been totally different. He’s jumpy and always looking over his own shoulder, like he’s scared of his own shadow.

  Plus, the customers can feel the air of unease. It permeates the piano bar, and my up-tempo music doesn’t make a difference. There’s a tangible feeling of fear in the air, and the thick miasma just won’t dissipate. Regulars are slowly drifting off, and foot traffic is growing more sparse with every week that goes by.

  Suddenly, a door slams, and the argument between Milton and Chris falls deathly silent.

  The sound of the piano is lonely in the strange quiet. In fact, it’s so bizarre that my hands falter on the keys. What’s going on?

  But no one seems to notice the chill in the air. I hope that whatever it is that’s going on, Milton can work it out without having a heart attack. Or without Chris killing him.

  After the frantic pace of “Mamma Mia,” a light love song seems to be a better choice, so I segue seamlessly into Whitney Houston’s “You Give Good Love.” The sound of the piano is strong and clear now, bringing a warmth to the piano bar. I tap the keys enthusiastically, always with a cheery smile on my face. It seems to help somewhat, and customers go about their business as usual. I can’t see where Milt and Chris have disappeared to, so I give up and belt out the best of Whitney. Hopefully things will work out on their own.

  Plus, I like it here. Where else would I get to sing show tunes day in and day out, while getting paid? I don’t have a degree, so I’m not exactly qualified to do much. Maybe I’ll go back to school one day, but right now, I just don’t know because tuition is so expensive. But if I cut back on some expenses, and walk instead of taking the subway, maybe I can make it happen. Little things like that that add up to a lot of money, and I’m determined to save wherever I can.

  I’m mentally assessing my bank account, stripping it bare to see just how possible school could be when a tall, masculine figure walks across the room toward the bar.

  Wow, he’s really hot. I gulp and hope that the movement of my Adam’s apple isn’t too obvious.

  I blink to refocus on the room instead of on the sexy, panther-like footsteps of the stranger. My mouth is completely dry from just one look at him because the man is like a vision straight from one of my wet dreams. His hair is black and thick and silky-looking. That face of his would make my friends from art school climb all over each other to paint or sculpt him. And his body...oh my god. The expensive, dark suit can’t hide the broad chest, narrow waist, and powerful thighs. If anything, the suit accentuates just how masculine he is, and how incredibly sexy.

  I lick my lips, and just at that second, the guy looks my way. His eyes are some shade of dark, but I can’t tell what color they are from here. All I know is that they draw my own like magnets. Quickly, I look away. Then I look right back as soon as I sense he’s not gazing at me anymore.

  My dick stiffens and suddenly the fabric feels too tight against my crotch. Oh no. I’m on the job, and this is happening? I silently pray for my boner to dissipate, and shift uncomfortably on the piano bench even as I cast another bright smile about the room.

  The mystery man’s at the bar now. I watch him order a drink as my fingers tinkle at the keys. He doesn’t have a long talk with Gina, the super-sexy barten
der who barely wears clothes to work. There’s only just enough of a conversation for him to order a drink and slide money across the bar. The back of his dark head gleams in the dim lights of the club like he’s an angel visiting Earth. He certainly isn’t like any of the regulars, and I haven’t seen any new people come here in a while.

  Gina returns with his drink. It’s something golden brown poured over ice. It barely looks like a finger of the stuff, like he doesn’t plan on being here long. Not that I can blame him. Playing Desires is nothing like it used to be: welcoming, easy, and a charming place to strike up a conversation. It’s a shame just how fast things change.

  The guy at the bar sips his drink and gazes over the crowd. What’s wrong with me that I can’t stop staring at him?

  And suddenly, he’s staring right back. He’s looking over his shoulder at me, and then, like he’s deliberately revealing the rest of his face, he slowly swivels around on the bar stool.

  Oh. My. God.

  The man’s dick is stiff. Totally and completely. And the thick hard-on snakes down his thigh, fighting for room in the slim-fit slacks. It’s huge, quite clearly the biggest one I’ve ever seen outside of a porn video, and it looks like it’s only getting bigger. My mouth waters heavily even as my fingers plunk mechanically away.

  The guy’s eyes rise again to mine, and my face goes red and hot with utter and complete embarrassment. Is he looking at me? Is this guy gay? With some people, it’s impossible to tell. He could be gay, straight, bi or poly, but suddenly, I’m praying that he likes men.

  Well, he’s definitely drinking me up. He could have come onto Gina, our bartender, but … no. Gina has already turned away from the new guy and is now making a martini for one of the regulars. Her smooth back, naked to the dimples at the base of her back, is framed in a sleek black dress. But he’s not paying any attention to her. He’s completely focused on me.

  Yes. He’s staring straight at me.

  My cheeks are on fire! I wish I could cover them with my hands, but playing the piano doesn’t give me that option.

  Tall, dark, and ready for action gets up from the bar with his drink in hand, making no effort to hide his arousal. Oh my God, he’s now sitting at the empty table right in front of the piano. Right in front of me. A gasp runs through my body, as well as an answering shock of arousal.

  How can I be feeling these things? I’m on the job right now, for Pete’s sake. Thank goodness this part of the song is only instrumental. I bite my lip and look away from the man and the careless spread of his legs as he watches me while slowly sipping from his glass. What does he see when he looks my way? As usual, I took care when I dressed for work earlier tonight, so I know I look good.

  I also know that I’m not every man’s cup of sexy time tea. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a normal enough face. I have dimples, which a lot of guys have told me are cute. Plus, I lift weights and run, so I’m toned and athletic, which is emphasized by my slim cut suit and stark white shirt. Still, I’m no Hercules. The mystery man probably has a good thirty pounds of muscle on me, not to mention a couple inches in height.

  I squirm against the piano bench, imagining being with him. The bulge in his pants is only growing more huge, and hot shivers run down my spine. What would it be like to have that giant cock filling me from behind? His hands on my hips, holding me still as he slides into me? How would a man like that sound in bed? Refined and elegant, complimenting my physique as he brings me to orgasm? Or would he grunt and drill hard, not caring about anything but getting us both off?

  The bulge at my crotch is now enormous and I silently pray the darkness of the bar hides it. God, I can’t catch a breath, and if I keep thinking these naughty thoughts about the stranger, I’m going to freaking hyperventilate.

  I try to keep myself calm, even while singing and playing. The voice inside my head speaks. Ok, stop, Milo. This is just some random guy. You’re at work. You need to focus on finishing up this set and getting out of here when it’s time to clock out. Okay? Okay.

  But when I turn back to the man after doing a quick survey of the room, he’s still staring at me. And he’s still hard.

  Dark eyes blaze into mine, and his cock seems like it’s pointed straight in my direction. He brings the glass of liquor to his lips and takes another sip. When he lowers the glass to the table, his mouth is damp from the alcohol, and those lips tantalize as his tongue flicks out to lick them. His devilish smile flares to life and burns into me even more deeply than his intense stare.

  Meanwhile, I keep playing the piano, my fingers dancing lightly over the keys. But somehow, I know once my set is over, my life will change forever because of this man.

  3

  Neil

  After the encounter with Don, I just wanted to relax someplace quiet with a drink. As a result, I hit up Playing Desires, a local piano bar. It’s a sentimental thing for me. When I was a kid, my dad used to drag me to piano bars all the time. The people there knew I was underage, but they didn’t care since I only had root beer and listened to my dad talk about the good old days, long gone as they were. Frankly, those are some of my best memories.

  So now I feel like there’s no place like a piano bar to help me relax and sort out my thoughts. Playing Desires is one of the few real ones left in the city. It’s low key and not caught up in all the hipster bullshit permeating the city. I haven’t been here in a while, but the last time I stepped into the place, they had a decent guy on the piano and the atmosphere was just like I remembered as a kid: laid back yet convivial.

  The door of the piano bar swings open under the light touch of my hand. Music pours out to welcome me, something slow and sweet, and my shoulders immediately and automatically relax.

  Yeah. This is exactly what I came here for. Well, almost.

  I frown as I realize how much shabbier the place looks since the last time I was here. How long as it been? I’m not sure, but a while. Now, the bottles of booze on the top shelf look like they’re full of water, the bar itself is more than half empty of customers, and the empty tables look they need a proper cleaning. Did they fire the janitor or something? Was Milt having a hard time keeping up with the basics? It’s a shame, seeing the sticky crud on these surfaces.

  But come to think of it, the last time I was here, I could tell that something was amiss. Make that a couple somethings, actually. The piano guy didn’t seem too happy, and the owner was talking to anybody who would listen about how he just needed a few hundred thousand to make the place world class. But at least back then, the place had looked clean and well-cared for. Now, not so much.

  Frankly, the place looks like it’s on the verge of financial collapse, and if my sources are correct, then I may be able to swoop in for a fire sale. After all, I buy and sell property on the side, so I’ve been keeping an eye on the joint since it’s a prime location. If I can get it for the right price, then I can make a bit of pocket change profit – $100,000 or so – which isn’t much, but that’s why real estate is my hobby and not my real job. Still, until Playing Desires collapses, I plan on enjoying its ambience.

  But wait, who’s the guy drumming up tunes up front?

  The old piano guy is gone. In his place is… well, the hottest man I’ve seen in a long time.

  Wow. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with thick chestnut hair and dark brown eyes. He’s toned and athletic, wearing a perfectly-cut suit that hugs his trim body. Best of all, his fingers flash like lightning over the keys even as a melodic lilt hits my ears. Is this man singing for me?

  With each step across the room toward the bar, my cock hardens, stiffening up in my slacks and making it hard as hell to walk. But this man is pushing all of my buttons. Young. Handsome. And confident as hell, with that voice of passion. He’s sitting at the piano like a mermaid on a rock, beguiling us with that sultry voice.

  I want to fuck him so badly it hurts. But it’s wrong because this guy is obviously young. There’s something about his unlined face and innocent way that tells me I sho
uldn’t do it. After all, I’ve been around the block and then some. I’ve been with men and women, and my experience would make him cringe.

  But god, the things I could do to that toned body of his. The broad chest, and muscled abs. The long legs just begging to wrap around me. And definitely, a huge cock in those pants for me to suck until he comes. Would he be shocked if I licked his semen from his abs afterwards?

  A hot ache spreads low in my belly, and my dick jerks hard in my pants at that thought. Yes, this performer is perfect. When I get him home, he’ll be begging me to take him six ways to Sunday. And because I damn sure am going to get him home with me tonight, he’ll get every single one of his sexual fantasies satisfied in my bed. No worries because obviously, I’ll get mine too.

  I need to calm down, though. The musician is hot, but I’ve never felt such an instant need for someone, an overwhelming desire to claim. Usually, I flirt and charm my target, killing him with smiles and promises of togetherness until he just about melts into a puddle. But this man instantly feels different. I haven’t talked to him yet, but I know he’s worth more than just a quick fling.

  Hard as a rock, I turn to the bartender.

  “Bourbon on the rocks,” I manage in a hoarse voice when she comes over. After a quick once-over at me, she gets me my drink, takes my cash, and that’s that. I can tell she wants to engage in some light banter, but I’m more into the man on the dais.

  He sings and plays away, with a welcoming smile on his face. The song may be a happy one, all sunshine and rainbows, but the sound of his voice is just so damn sexy. Hell, he could probably sing about the national budget deficit, and I’d want to drag him with me into bed.

  I knock back a swallow of the bourbon and then groan at the slow, satisfying burn of it in my chest. After looking at the crap stock of liquor at the bar, the strong and smooth bourbon is a nice surprise.

  After I adjust my package so that it’s not as obvious, I cross the room and settle in at the table right in front of the male performer. The view from up close is even better. His skin is bronzed and tan, and his sculpted lips perfect for kissing. And that voice of his is truly amazing. It thrills me to my soul as he climbs an arpeggio and then swoops into an amazing finish.