Heaven's Ballroom

by Aiden Bates

  Besides, there were better things for me to focus on.

  Namely, the Omega behind the front counter with the pretty scotch-colored eyes.

  “You’ve got a real knack for being in the right place at the right time, you know,” Riley said tentatively, coming around the counter as the Ballroom’s bouncer stood in front of the doors, daring Hayward to try to come in again and see what it would earn him.

  I shrugged. “It’s easy enough with you. I just can’t let you out of my sight.”

  I didn’t know what to expect from Riley. A thank you at most, maybe—and that was if I was really lucky. He’d said he needed time. Enough space to clear his head. I’d responded by following him to his place of work and breaking a man’s nose right in front of Riley’s face. Not exactly the kind of time and space he’d been envisioning when he’d asked for it, if my guess was right.

  But I hadn’t expected him to throw his arms around my neck the way he did. Hadn’t expected the wet feeling of his lips on my cheek, the warmth of his trembling chest pressing against mine.

  “Max?” he whispered in my ear, a little tremble of fear in his voice.

  “Yeah?”

  He laughed. “You’ve gotta show me how to do that.”

  His laughter was infectious. I caught it full-force, feeling it rumble all the way up from my belly so hard that suddenly, both of us were shaking.

  “Break bad men’s noses? If I do my job right, you won’t have to learn.”

  “Your job, huh?” Riley pulled away, eyes glimmering in the low light. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you just lost your job, honey.”

  “That’s not the job I’m talking about and you know it. I have, ah, alternative employment, so to speak.”

  “Protecting my dumb ass won’t pay the bills, you know.”

  I grinned. “I know. But the benefits package is pretty nice.”

  We didn’t talk about our fight. About the way I’d followed him to the club or the way seeing Ethan throwing himself at me had shaken his faith in me. For a while, we didn’t talk about anything—just stood there, sandwiched by the sound of thumping bass from the Ballroom’s stage and Hayward’s drunken ranting outside, enjoying the feel of being in each other’s arms.

  “Come on,” Riley finally said softly, nuzzling his cheek against my chest before pulling away. “Let’s get you a drink. You probably need one, after that.”

  “Haven’t you heard? I’m off the sauce until you are.”

  Riley smiled. “A couple of waters, then. I know a place close by that serves them up real nice.”

  He took my hand, guiding me onto the main floor of the Ballroom in a way that reminded me of how he’d taken me to that private room on the night we met. Funny, how something so important to me had started with something so ridiculous as a lap dance.

  Even funnier how, if I’d found Riley working the floor instead of the ticket booth, I would’ve bought up all of his dances all over again that night.

  We settled onto two bar stools, turning into each other so our knees touched. Riley’s hands were still trembling like little leaves in the wind. I grabbed one of them instinctively and pulled it across the bar, folding it beneath mine.

  He didn’t pull it away. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  “So,” I began. Didn’t quite know what else to say.

  “So,” he repeated. Apparently, the feeling was mutual.

  Ball was back in my court.

  “Look. I don’t know how else to say I’m sorry, Riley. I’m sorry that I hurt you—I’m sorry that I got you all mixed up in this mess. But if you’ve got any ideas on how I can make you a better apology, I’m all ears. I’ll learn the words backward. I’ll say them in Spanish, if you like.”

  His lips curled into a little smirk. “You’d have to learn Spanish first, Max.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “¿Estás seguro?”

  That earned me a laugh. It was probably half adrenaline, half surprise, but it counted.

  He had the most beautiful laugh in the entire goddamn world. I could’ve listened to him laugh like that all night, straight into morning. All through the next week, too. The next month.

  For the rest of my life.

  “Spanish.” He shook his head. “There’s still so much I have to learn about you, Max.”

  “The feeling’s mutual. But if you’re up for it…I can be a very capable student.”

  “You’re going to study me, huh?”

  I smiled. “I’ve been studying you since the moment I first saw you, sweetheart. Been thinking about getting my Master’s degree in you, in fact.”

  “As long as that’s all you’re planning on getting into me.”

  I ran my tongue across my lips. “Is that so?”

  He narrowed his eyes. They were fucking sparkling now. Like he’d lit little fires in his irises with stars he’d stolen from the sky.

  “Let me figure out how to forgive you,” he countered. “Then…maybe we’ll talk.”

  “I don’t think we’ll be doing much talking.”

  “Ahem.” A throat cleared behind us. When I turned, I realized there was a man standing there. An Omega, blond hair and green eyes—a handsome enough one that I was surprised to see that he wasn’t dressed in a little gold thong and a pair of angel wings himself.

  “Foster!” Riley blinked in surprise. “Foster—this is Max. Max Griffin. You’ve probably heard about him a little bit by now.” His cheeks were flushed as he made the introductions. “Max, this is Foster Collins. He’s the owner of Heaven’s Ballroom—my boss.”

  “Maybe not for much longer, though,” Foster said with a knowing smile. “Sounds like you might be stealing Riley away from us for good, Mr. Griffin.”

  “I’d like to.”

  Riley giggled softly. “You just might.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Collins?” I turned to face him fully on my stool, leaning back against the bar behind me.

  Foster straightened the lapels on his suit. “Seems like I owe you my gratitude, is all. From what Blake has told me, you’ve earned it.”

  “It was nothing,” I said, waving the thanks away. “More than worth the effort.”

  “You often spend your time cracking the heads of unruly drunks, Mr. Griffin? Or was tonight a one-time-only kind of show?” His smile turned apologetic. “Blake also mentioned you might be in need of a new job. We can always use another capable bouncer at our gates.”

  “Afraid I’m not much of a St. Peter type,” I said with a shrug. “More of a finance man, really. But don’t go worrying about me—like I said. It was a pleasure. Something will turn up.”

  “Finance, huh?” Foster reached into his suit jacket, producing a wallet. Fuck—I really hoped he wasn’t going to try to pay me for my troubles. I’d cracked Hayward’s face as a matter of honor. Not because I expected to make a payday out of it.

  To my relief, Foster produced a business card in lieu of cash.

  “Ever heard of Don Sterling?” he asked, passing me the card. “You seem like the kind of man he’d like to have playing on his team.”

  “Heard of him?” I laughed. Don Sterling was the real deal—not a blowhard like Hayward. He had his pick of the top graduates of every business school in the region. Definitely not the kind of man who’d ever hire an uneducated jackass like me. “His boys and I have been batting clients back and forth ever since I got in the game. Trust me—thanks for the offer, but he’s not gonna be interested.”

  I tried to pass the card back to him, but Foster only shook his head.

  “Don’t underestimate Don. I think he’d like your style.” A wicked smile spread across Foster’s lips. “Mention to him that you dropped Malcolm Hayward like a sack of potatoes the way you did and he’s likely to kiss you on the spot.”

  Riley cringed. “God, I hope not. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Max—but I’m the jealous type.”

  “I’ll keep him in mind,” I promised Foster, tucking the car
d into my pocket. “But if you wanted to pass along to him that we can skip the hanky-panky, I’d be appreciative.” I glanced over at Riley, squeezing his fingers tight. “I’m kind of a one man kind of man. Dance card’s all full up.”

  Foster laughed. “I’ll mention it to him. Take care of this one, okay?” He ruffled Riley’s hair, a look of faux annoyance in his eyes. “He’s going to be a pain in the ass to replace.”

  “I intend to.” I offered Foster my hand and he shook it. He had a firm handshake for an Omega—but I was much happier as he drifted back off into his club and I could return to the matter of holding Riley’s hands instead.

  “So what now?” Riley asked, biting his lip.

  I inclined my head toward the door. “I don’t have a Mercedes in the parking lot this time—but if we slip out the back, maybe you’d be interested in a cab ride?”

  Riley gave me a slow grin. “Your place or mine?”

  “Our place, Riley. If you’ll have me.”

  He sighed, bowing his head slightly, then nodding it.

  “I’ll have you all right, Mr. Griffin. Consider yourself absolved for now.”

  “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  His grin widened. “It might.”

  17

  Riley

  I didn’t know how long I could wait to feel Max’s hands on my body again, but I thought I’d at least have been able to make it back to his place. It wasn’t exactly a long ride. Six or seven blocks at most.

  New York traffic, though—it had a way of prolonging even the shortest of cab rides. It would’ve been faster walking, really. But that wouldn’t have given me my chance to reach out across the backseat, quick as a viper strike, and slip my fingers beneath Max’s belt.

  “So you do forgive me.” He grinned as I pulled him closer to me with a hard yank, until maybe only an inch was left between us. He was taller than me, even just while sitting. It was enough that I had to tilt my head back to look him in the eye.

  “I told you I did, didn’t I?” The skin of his stomach was hot on the back of my knuckles. My eyes rose to his lips, and I considered claiming them. Decided against it, though. I wanted him, but I still wanted him to sweat things out a little longer, too. My mother had once said good things came to those who wait.

  But then again, if I’d taken that advice, Max and I might not have ever ended up together in the first place.

  I chuckled, a rush of hot breath on Max’s neck.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I laughed again. “I can’t decide whether I should kiss you for saving me or smack you for following me in the first place.”

  He smirked. “You can always try both. See which one you like better.”

  “No,” I purred, leaning in and nibbling his earlobe. “I think I already know the answer to that.”

  Max sighed. “All right, smack me then—but if you think that this is going to turn into some kind of Fifty Shades of Grey thing, then—”

  The consequences of turning into Christian Grey on Max, I’d never learn. I shut him up with a kiss, crushing my lips against his before he could utter another word.

  He tasted like ice water, cool and crisp. Like bad fortune mixed with the best of intentions. Max’s hands fumbled before landing on my hips. He slid them upward, his palms on the bare flesh of my abdomen.

  “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed against my lips.

  When he kissed me again, it was hard. Unrelenting. I gave it back to him with twice the force. Hard enough for our lips to bruise. When he went into Don Sterling’s office later that week, his mouth would be all black and blue from kisses like those. The boys at Sterling Enterprises would tease him about trying on my stage makeup—but I liked the idea of that kind of claiming. Showboating. Making it clear to everyone who saw him for the rest of the week that Max Griffin was mine.

  Hell—if I had it my way, I’d claim him like that for the rest of my life.

  “What changed your mind?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity as I tried to tug his belt off in the back of our cab.

  I laughed. “Maybe I just really like seeing you break other men’s noses.”

  “Mm. So that’s what does it for you. Watching me do violence unto bad men, huh?” He rested his forehead against mine. “I’ll have to keep a gallery of rogues in my back pocket for the next time I fuck up then, I guess.”

  “Just like Batman.” I nipped at his lower lip, feeling the way it curled beneath my teeth in a grin he couldn’t seem to chase away.

  “Just like Batman,” he agreed, his hands climbing beneath my shirt.

  I could feel the short curled hairs on his stomach against the back of my knuckles, his belt still in-hand. My other hand climbed over his shoulder and wound itself behind his neck, grabbing his head and driving yet another kiss. Our tongues were swirling, hips grinding. There was a hunger between us now, one that I’d been afraid just a few hours ago I’d never feel again.

  At Heaven’s, I might have been an angel, but here with Max I was certainly no saint. I drew the feeling out, tasting it, relishing its urgency. Its warmth.

  “Christ,” Max rasped. “The things I’d like to do to you…”

  But, before whatever Max had planned could be put into action, the car came to a sudden stop and his head bounced off the back of the passenger seat.

  “Stop fucking in my cab,” the driver barked gruffly.

  Max and I shared a glance and exploded into laughter, the kind that took over the whole body and made my cheeks ache.

  I laughed at the driver as I kissed Max’s brow. “Oh, honey. If we were fucking, you’d know.”

  Somehow, we made it all the way up to Max’s penthouse without sealing the deal—but by the time we stumbled out of the elevator and through his front door, we were half undressed already. Our shirts, socks and shoes wound up scattered in a trail to the bedroom, abandoned across his hardwood floors, until we were collapsing onto his bed in nothing but our pants.

  I hissed in a breath between my teeth as Max’s lips traced a path down my neck toward my collarbone. The breath shuddered and shuttered as Max’s teeth scraped against my skin, drawing out a moan. But as my own hands pulled at his belt again, the button of his slacks, Max pulled back and stared at me.

  Why?

  I didn’t have a fucking clue.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him, feeling the rise and fall of my chest come a little tighter with anticipation. Men didn’t usually stop and stare in the middle of foreplay—at least, not as far as I could tell from my small amount of experience with Max and the stories that the guys at the club told. Not unless they were about to come too soon and were trying to think about baseball, anyway.

  “You’re gorgeous,” Max said softly, brushing his fingers against my cheek. “I can’t believe you’re really mine.”

  I breathed out a sigh of relief, closing my eyes. “That’s right. I’m yours.” I sank deeper into the plushness of the bed for a moment, relishing the way it felt to be beneath him like this. The weight of his body on top of mine and the gentle kiss of his fingers on my skin.

  Then, I gave him a wolfish smile and rolled us both over. Things between us had started with me on top. I didn’t see any reason to change what so obviously worked.

  “There,” I told him, placing a delicate kiss on his Adam’s apple, a kiss so small and light it might’ve seemed innocent if not for the fact I was tearing his pants off him like my life depended on it. “Now you can stare all you like.”

  His cock was hard and hot as it sprang from his boxers. I took it in my fist, pulling a moan from his lips that felt equal to Bach. Mozart. To Bruce Springsteen roaring into a microphone about being born in the USA. He stared at me as I did it—then, with a few firm strokes of my hand, his eyes rolled back in his head until he closed them completely.

  Now it was my turn to stare.

  I took him in, all of him. From the way his skin pebbled as my fingers raked down his chest to the small, c
ircular revolutions his hips made every time I pulled back, instinctively searching for a little more pleasure. He was a glutton—and as it turned out, I liked that in a man. I added another hand to my work, first cupping his balls in my palm then stacking my fists one atop the other, clinging to his shaft and slipping to my knees on the floor. I pumped him quicker, leaving near translucent trails of precum on my knuckles where the tip of his cock brushed against them.

  “Fuck,” Max growled, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “Suck me, Riley. Give me your mouth.”

  I licked my lips like I was about to eat a Michelin Star meal.

  “Keep talking,” I urged him.

  Heat was already coiling around my own cock, rendering it stiff and aching as it strained against my jeans. I raised his cock up until the tip was pressed to my lips, offering him a slow, teasing, romantic kiss, before taking him into my mouth, licking and sucking and swirling my tongue around the head until I’d lubricated him into a lather. Then, with a coy wink that felt more like something that Anders would do, I took him into my throat.

  It was a struggle. There was a lot of him, after all, and gagging wasn’t avoidable at his size. But instead of retreating, backing off like a sensible person, I made a show of it. Going forward, gagging, and then going forward some more.

  “Goddamn,” Max gasped. “Your throat—fuck. So fucking good—”

  I formed a seal around Max’s cock, air tight, and fucking vacuumed him. My throat muscles convulsed around his length, squeezing his cock like it was my own ass working up and down Max’s shaft instead.

  I didn’t free my throat until I had no choice but to come up for air. My tongue swirled around his tip like it was an ice cream cone on a hot summer before breaking the air-tight seal with a pop.

  “Fuck. Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

  “Jealous?” I teased, then shrugged. “You’d be surprised at everything I picked up listening into everyone else’s dirty stories in the dressing room, honey.”