They wore jeweled handcuffs with long chains and sank to their knees. Smoke filled the floor, and the lights dimmed, creating a private erotic scene.
Holy fuck. They were perfect little sex slaves. His palms itched with the desire to take control.
In his mind, pink hair wrapped around one fist while the other held his cock out for a pair of full painted lips. Under the table he smoothed his slacks to his knees.
“They’re stunning,” the woman who’d been standing with Prince said in his ear. At some point she’d slid in next to him. He hadn’t noticed. “Where did you find them?”
With a deep breath, Rafe put a stranglehold on his lust and cut his gaze to her. Rafe had no idea, but damn, he wanted to know too. Where the fuck had they come from? “You’ll have to ask my GM, I only sign the checks.”
Her throaty laugh was the kind that would have another guy pouring all his charm into getting her out of her clothes. Not him. Especially not today.
“Refreshingly humble,” she said. “I’m Gigi, Parker’s assistant.”
Ah. That explained the suit. Rafe shook her hand and flicked a quick glance to Prince, who eyed them with calculation. Huh. Were they setting him up?
“Nice to meet you,” Rafe said, but quickly let go and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and looking straight into Prince’s eyes.
“Let’s cut to the chase, Mr. Prince. What is it I can do for you?”
“I suggested he come,” Gigi said.
Rafe glanced over his shoulder to see her blink at him but refocused on Prince.
“It’s true. She said I should have a look at what a normal night looks like. I prefer seeing models in their regular clothes. Their style can tell you a lot about who they are. I wanted to know the club’s personality.”
Rafe didn’t see any signs of falsehood on Prince’s too pretty face. Some of the tension he’d been carrying since Mark rushed into his office drained away. He leaned back. “So, what have you concluded?”
He purposefully ignored Gigi’s exploratory hand on his thigh.
And the oddly enticing dancers over Prince’s shoulder.
Though the last bit was much, much more difficult, every cell in his body pulled him to look, to watch—to fantasize.
But Rafe was famous for his self-discipline and he wasn’t going to give in now. Not when so much rested on this deal.
Prince seemed to think about his answer for a moment, taking an elegant sip from a champagne glass and petting the ginger’s knee. “Switch is a little bit kinky and has a huge chip on its shoulder.” His shrewd hazel eyes pierced Rafe like daggers.
Was he talking about the club or Rafe himself? Because his description cut a little too close to home. Defensiveness bubbled in his veins and he was about to say something foolish when a predatory grin stretched Prince’s features.
“I like it,” Prince said. “It reminds me of myself.” He and Gigi laughed, the posse followed but it was clear they didn’t know why they were laughing.
“Good.” It was good, right? Rafe wasn’t sure what was what.
Prince took another long swallow of his champagne, and then said, “I’m really looking forward to your presentation, Mr. Marson.”
“We won’t disappoint.” He’d make sure of it. He stood. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to enjoy the club.”
Gigi pouted. “Stay.”
He squeezed out of the booth and shook his head. “I’m afraid I have a lot of work to do. But I’ll send up a couple complimentary bottles of Dom, and if you need anything Mark will be around.”
Prince’s eyes grew ice cold. He set his glass on the low table and stood, pushing past his posse’s knees without care. “Do I look like the kind of asshole who’d show up unannounced with friends and expect the owner to shower us with free drinks?”
Yes. Rafe kept his mouth shut.
“I didn’t come here for a bribe, Mr. Marson.”
“Never crossed my mind.” His respect for the designer grew by about a hundred percent. In Rafe’s experience, people in Prince’s position expected their asses to be kissed.
“I grew up watching people take advantage. I’m not going to be that guy.” A shadow passed over Prince’s face and Rafe wondered what Prince meant. He wasn’t going to ask. It wasn’t his business.
“Fair enough.” Rafe held out his hand and waited until Prince shook it.
“I will take a couple bottles, though. Feel free to charge me double for the trouble.”
Rafe smiled a genuine smile. “I’ll send someone up. Have fun.”
As he left, his traitorous gaze slipped to the stage. The song was winding down now. He’d been distracted too long. It was the last chorus of “Fetish” and the dancers were on their backs, thrusting their hips into their air. In one graceful move they swept up onto their feet, spun away, bent at the waist and displayed their asses to the cheering crowd.
And fuck if the colorful one didn’t have the most perfect ass Rafe had ever seen. It was hard for him to believe it didn’t belong to a woman. His cock didn’t care. Once again it was pressing painfully against his zipper.
The dancers flipped their hair, looked over their shoulders and fucking winked.
At once the lights went down. Roars from the audience skyrocketed, then the DJ spun Selena’s voice and mixed it with the next dance tune. The lights came back up, but the stage wasn’t a stage anymore.
The show was over.
Rafe couldn’t explain the overwhelming sense of disappointment.
Chapter Four
Friday came too fast.
Before Hop knew it, he was backstage with the Sassy Boyz waiting for their turn to audition. He’d spent extra time rehearsing the routine in his bedroom and endless hours adjusting his outfit so it hid anything recognizable yet highlighted his best attributes. The neckline of his crop top was cut low enough to show off his prominent collarbone and long neck. He’d taken in his black sequined harem pants so they fit snug around his ass but remained loose enough to dance.
He was as prepared as he could get.
Today was the day he’d confront Rafe. Today was the day he’d get to see shock transform the asshole’s face.
Satisfaction simmered Hop’s blood. He’d waited years to get one over on his rival. Even though the result was going to hurt, at least he had the upper hand.
He knew what was coming.
Rafe didn’t.
No matter what, the Sassy Boyz would kill this audition. Hop had no doubt. Tam and Ansel had creativity pouring out of their pores. When you included Jae and Z, hell, no one could beat them. They’d be okay without him.
When it was their turn, Tam led the way on stage. The lights were already turned down which was a relief.
He found his place and struck a pose.
The song, “Hiccup” by JX Riders featuring Sisterwife, had a synth-heavy beat and provocative lyrics. It allowed them to showcase the best parts of the Sassy Boyz’ swag and attitude. The choreography was quick with lots of moments to accentuate their style.
Their heels and makeup popped with colors matching the computerized futuristic music. Lots of techno flash brought to earth with a hip-hop silhouette.
Everything blurred together in the rapid tempo which made it easy to forget exactly what waited for him. Supersonic music filled the air and gave him life. Hop let go and danced. He swished and bent and tempted. He poured every ounce of filthy and crude sexuality into the movement. Tam had created a world where the taboo was the norm and the Sassy Boyz needed to bring his vision to life.
At the tail end of the song, the repetitive bridge melded into another psych-influenced dance track. Sofi Tukker’s “Fuck They” was a great soundtrack to showcase their confidence. It was full of rebellion with a wonderful blend of edgy playfulness.
Fuck p
ushing boundaries, with this dance there were no limits. At moments they hit hard with masculine hip-hop inspired steps but within the blink of an eye they were rolling their hips and eye-fucking their audience.
About halfway through the routine the choreography called for them to lick their fingers then grab their crotches while they thrust their hips suggestively.
That was the moment.
His gaze collided with Rafe’s.
But it wasn’t anger on Rafe’s face. It was lust. The atmosphere was charged with it, thick like syrup it poured over Hop until the room disappeared and it was just the two of them in a bubble.
Their history vanished and they were two blank slates with nothing in their way. Without that connection, only base instincts ruled them. And right then, Hop’s instinct was to appease the desire in those dark, commanding eyes. The part of him he’d struggled against for so long reared its head and roared, recognizing something Hop could not—the possibility of surrender. It was the answer to everything he sought.
Hop’s already quick pulse sped impossibly and he sucked in breath after breath. When he thought he might pass out from the mix of dread and desire, Rafe’s expression changed.
Lust morphed into confusion. And then...
Recognition.
* * *
It was his eyes.
Those insane blue eyes. God, Rafe had seen them so many times he’d recognize them anywhere. It didn’t matter how he’d disguised himself. Pastel hair, makeup, heels...none of it mattered when those eyes focused on him.
Hopkins Roland Lovette.
The menace was in Rafe’s goddamn club like he belonged there.
Confusion hardened the threads of desire that had wrapped Rafe in a hot cocoon the moment the music started. The cold shell it made was layered with years of resentment and a fresh new panic. His fists tightened on the armrests and he fought the irrationality threatening his sanity.
Jesus, Rafe had been all but eye-fucking him a minute ago. The kid who’d driven him mad with his foolish rebellion and immature risks was standing right in front of him dressed in glitter and heels, disrupting his well-ordered life. Hopkins had always been a storm of chaos sucking Rafe in and twisting him up. He couldn’t allow it to happen now.
Not again.
No. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. There was no way Hopkins would be here of all places. The guy might be a total wreck, but he wasn’t without some self-preservation. He’d know this was the worst place to show his face after close to a decade of lying low.
Rafe picked up the file and flipped through the contracts. Mark flicked a worried glance in his direction, but Rafe ignored it as he searched. Nothing stood out.
His friend must have sensed Rafe’s irritation, because he grabbed the file out of Rafe’s hands, then handed him the contract with a raised eyebrow.
Sassy Boyz.
No wonder Rafe had been clueless. He scanned the paper until he found Hopkins’s signature.
Not Hopkins, but Hop. Typical.
A new name for his new style? Like that would change anything. Rafe scoffed and crumpled the sheet in his hands. The music stopped abruptly and the house lights came up. Hopkins was already slinking backstage, the coward.
Rafe stood. “Wait.” His voice was a low commanding growl, and he felt a satisfying surge of adrenaline when Hopkins froze like a mouse caught by the cat, the way he’d always done before.
It was just a millisecond, but the instant stillness gave Rafe a powerful rush. Before he could blink, though, Hopkins had turned to glare at him, his chin lifted with pride and an irritating smirk firmly in place.
“Hello, Rafe.” Such animosity. Such contempt. It dripped off those two words like rocket fuel, lighting everything between them on fire.
It triggered a tsunami of nameless emotions in Rafe.
“You two know each other?” Mark asked. He stood too.
“Whoa,” the blond dancer said. He came up near Hopkins’s shoulder in silent support. Must be he could tell this wasn’t a happy reunion.
Did they know each other? All those years of cleaning up Hopkins’s messes flashed in Rafe’s mind. All those times he’d found the guy strung out and naked in a strange bed, the panicked calls, the begging and pleading, the mindless rebellion and useless bids for attention. All those years of being the middleman between Roland Lockwood and his bastard son.
Did they know each other?
No.
They’d never known each other. Not really.
“Get out and don’t come back.” Rafe could not allow the madness that was Hopkins Lovette to destroy his plans.
“What?” This time the blond stepped in front of Hopkins. Rafe focused his ire on him.
“I said get out, all of you. You’re fired.”
“Rafe—”
Rafe swung his gaze to Mark, who shut up, then back to the problem. Hopkins had moved around the blond and now pinned Rafe with a determined stare. “Let them stay.”
Even as he crossed to the stage, even as he launched himself up, even as he stalked Hopkins, Rafe knew he was letting his emotions get the best of him. But knowing didn’t mean he could stop.
Having Hopkins at the club could put everything at risk. If Roland ever found out Hopkins was still in the city or that he’d never left to study... If he figured out Rafe had lied to him all those years ago...
Christ. Rafe didn’t even want to think about it.
It could not happen.
He grabbed Hopkins by the shoulders. “Why did you have to come here?”
“You think I wanted to? Get over yourself.”
“Hey, get your fucking hands off him.” Now it wasn’t just the blond coming to Hopkins’s rescue. The entire group pulled Rafe away.
“I’ll leave, but don’t fire them. They don’t deserve to be punished because of me.”
“Fuck that, all for fucking one and one for fucking all. We’re outta this dump.” This came from the one with black hair and a permanent scowl. He tugged on Hopkins’s hand.
“Guys,” Hopkins said. “Don’t throw this away.”
“Listen to Z.” The shortest one wrapped a slender arm around Hopkins’s waist.
“Come on, babe.” As a group they guided a protesting Hopkins away.
Rafe should have been relieved. He should have been levelheaded. He should have, but he wasn’t. There was only a weird empty ache in his gut and the sense he might have made a huge mistake.
“What the hell, Rafe?” Mark finally spoke up as soon as the dancers disappeared.
Suddenly weary, Rafe rubbed a hand down his face. “It’s a long story and I really don’t want to explain right now.”
“Fine, but you know they were perfect for the Prince party, right?”
Yeah, he knew. Jesus.
He knew.
Chapter Five
He was shaking.
Jesus, why the hell did his legs feel like they were made of rubber? For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t the first time he’d faced Rafe. It wasn’t even the first time he’d had Rafe’s hands on him. Though, hell, he didn’t remember them ever heating his skin quite so much. His arms sizzled where Rafe had gripped them.
They hurt in a way that turned his blood to lava. The part of him he was most ashamed of wanted more.
Stupid. Dangerous.
Hop shook those thoughts right out of his head. He was done getting into trouble.
Z and Tam led him backstage. Curious eyes watched them go, those who’d waited for their audition and those who’d likely come running at the first sign of drama. Yep, that was him—a fucking natural disaster. Gather round, everyone. Watch him blow his life apart.
It wasn’t anything new.
Except this time, his friends had become collateral damage.
“Guys, please. I love how yo
u’re being all supportive and shit, but it’s insane to throw away this opportunity because of me.” What kind of person would he be if he let them make such a huge sacrifice?
“Shut up.” Ansel’s voice was so full of affection it caught Hop by surprise. With an attitude as wide as the Atlantic, Ansel wasn’t the type to get mushy.
They made it into the semi-private dressing room and Tam pushed him into a chair. The relief he felt at not having to remain upright was so great, he didn’t argue. Resting his elbows on his knees, Hop hid his face in his hands.
What had he expected from their reunion?
Too bad it wasn’t the conflict that caused his knees to shake. It was the moment before, when their eyes had met and it had felt like everything Hop needed was within reach. Talk about pathetic.
“So, you and Mr. Marson...” Z trailed off.
Hop couldn’t bring himself to look up. He didn’t want to see their faces. He didn’t want to meet their eyes. His mask wasn’t strong enough. It’d surely crack under all the pressure. He remained quiet, reliving the moment over and over again.
Rafe’s icy control and powerful presence, Christ, but Hop hadn’t been prepared for it. The way he’d jumped onto the stage in one leap like he was stalking prey. Hop had been caught, but he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t backed down.
At least he had that to be proud of. It was a small comfort, since his actions meant the Boyz were, once again, adrift.
“Don’t do this, you can’t give up.” His words were muffled, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Like we’d want to work for that asshole.” Z’s palm rested on Hop’s shoulder.
“How do you know him?”
“Long story.”
“Ex?”
Surprise made him lift his head. “Fuck no, he’s straight.”
Ansel’s blond brows rose. “Coulda fooled me.”
Rafe’s heated gaze flashed in Hop’s mind, but he shoved it away. “Believe me. He had a serious girlfriend back when—before.” She’d had long brown hair, bright blue eyes, and freckles. She’d looked like an angel. “They’re probably married by now.” Something slithered in Hop’s stomach and he closed his eyes until the sickening feeling passed.
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