Heaven's Ballroom

by Aiden Bates

  I’d take him up to the Hamptons once I got things squared away, I decided then and there. Whisk him away from all this New York madness. Show him off. Worship that perfect body of his while he lounged by the poolside, salt in his hair and my baby growing in his womb.

  But first, my body had other demands. There was no time for foreplay—I was already too hard, and when I tugged his slacks off of him, probing between his muscular ass cheeks to feel his wetness, I knew immediately that he was already too far gone to care. There’d be time for foreplay later. After. He’d suck my cum and his honey off the cock that had gotten him pregnant, and I’d lick his off his stomach. Off the fucking sheets if I had to. We’d taste each other, enjoy each other when I’d taken what I wanted from him. What we both wanted. When we’d fulfilled that intense, mutual need that left us both hissing and aching for breath with every touch, every frantic kiss.

  “You want this?” I forced myself to ask the question, knowing that it might already be too late for that. If the tightness in his belly, the sensitivity of his nipples, the sheer fucking wetness of his ass for me before I’d so much as come near him with my cock was to be believed, the deed was already done. I’d already impregnated him. Made him mine forever. For good. But I had to ask now—had to be sure. “You want my baby inside you, Eliot?”

  “Please,” he moaned, his hips bucking up as I laid the length of my cock against his.

  The reality of it all, the feel of our pulses pressed together like that as they throbbed up our shafts, left both our cocks twitching in unison. Precum poured from my tip, coating the dark rose pink of his cock head, binding us together for a moment before I spread his legs and positioned myself a little lower. I held his ankles, tugging him towards the edge of the bed as my cock pressed against his entrance, slipping eagerly against his tight, wet hole.

  “You’re sure?” I asked, grinning as I thrust against him. There was no entrance to be had there, only proof of how slick and clenched he was.

  “God, Alton—if you don’t put your cock in me soon, I’ll do it for you!” he yelped, arching in delicious agony, and I laughed.

  “Just making sure.” If I’d been able to, I might have teased him longer. He was gorgeous when he was begging—but I didn’t have the strength to deny him for a second more, and he must have known it.

  Another thrust, this one right against his hole, and I slipped inside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. In a way, I supposed, it was. I felt like I’d been made for this moment. Made to claim Eliot Ashton. Made to breed him, make him whimper and coo and whine with pleasure so intense, he’d never be able to think of anything else ever again.

  Only me. My body. My cock and my cum. All the things I could do to him. All the things I had yet to do, over and over again. For the rest of our goddamn lives, if I had it my way.

  Eliot’s ass clamped around my thickness like a vice, throbbing sensually with my every thrust. I released his ankles to let his legs wrap around my waist again, pulling me deeper into him. Sinking my cock into his ass until that perfect honey of his was coating my balls instead. I licked it off my fingers, moaning as the taste of his desire hit my tongue. My balls were already tight, tense, ready to shoot into him. When I reached down to cup his, I found that they were much the same.

  “Mm. God, I love the way you fill me up, Alton.”

  “You’d better, Eliot. I’m going to be filling you like this every day. Every fucking day for the rest of your life.”

  I shifted my fingers to his shaft, wrapping them around him just as tight as he was wrapped around my dick. With every thrust of my hips, I stroked him, milking his cock the same way his ass was wringing around me. Fuck—it was like his body wanted my cum on instinct alone. I folded myself over him, unable to resist the temptation of his lips. I claimed them with kiss after kiss, smoothing my tongue against his as I jackhammered into him, edging both of us toward an orgasm that neither of us could deny.

  “I love you,” he breathed, every breath coming up shorter than the last.

  “I love you too, Eliot.” I didn’t say those words unless I meant them—and God, I fucking meant them when it came to him. “You’re mine. All fucking mine.”

  Another thrust, even sharper and harder than before. My hips moved like an industrial piston as I fucked into him, staccato and blissfully aware of how close I was to unleashing my entire fucking load right into his core.

  Eliot came first, his cum bursting up out of his tip like a fireworks show on the Fourth of July. He clung to me, digging his fingertips into my shoulder blades as I pumped rope after rope of thick, creamy cum into his ass, letting loose inside him and crushing the roar that caught in my throat against his lips.

  “There,” I panted, my body collapsing completely on top of his. “If you weren’t pregnant before…”

  I could feel him smiling against my lips, painting tiny brush strokes of a kiss onto my snarl.

  “I am now,” he said softly, giggling. “I am now.”

  The next morning, I woke before Eliot did and left the house early. Macy’s didn’t exactly open at the crack of dawn in New York, but I knew a special little shop that did. I might not have been able to pick up a pair of gold-studded cuff links for Eliot—or a pair of dragons to guard the door to our penthouse, for that matter—and I certainly wouldn’t be able to find a jewelry store that would let me in at seven in the morning so I could pick out a ring (although I’d already begun considering the style, the metal, and how the hell I was going to covertly figure out Eliot’s ring size).

  But they had what I needed. The last little piece of the puzzle so I could welcome Eliot into my life as my partner. Probably someday, as my husband. At the very least, for now, my boyfriend.

  At the very best, father of my second child.

  I paced the kitchen anxiously while I waited for him to wake up, making cup after cup of espresso so it would be ready for him, then drinking it when I realized it was getting cold. By the time I finally saw his messy blond head emerge from the hall, I was brimming with nervousness, excitement and caffeine.

  “Long night?” he asked, looking me up and down from across the room.

  “You could say that.”

  “You look wired.” He gave me a wry grin as he bandied into the kitchen, dressed in his tuxedo shirt from the night before and nothing else.

  “Yeah, well. You look well fucked.” I returned his grin as he came to me, winding his arms around my waist—and feeling the bow of the wrapped square box I had hidden behind my back.

  “What’s this?” he asked as I pulled it out for him, passing off the blue-papered package. “A present, huh? Do you give special gifts to every Omega you knock up?”

  “Technically…I guess I do.” I laughed. “To be fair, there have only been two of you.”

  “Pff. We won’t know for sure until next week sometime, remember. Maybe the week after.” His thumb teased the ribbon as his eyes focused on it intensely. “What is it?”

  “Open it and find out.”

  Eliot tore the paper away unceremoniously, gasping as he uncovered the treasure inside. He put the box on the counter, withdrawing a green ceramic mug the same color as his eyes from the tissue paper inside.

  “Gorgeous, huh?” He read the calligraphy script on the outside of the mug with one of the most beautiful grins I’d ever seen. “Is this for me?”

  “You’re gorgeous,” I said with a shrug. “Seemed right that you had your own. You’ll be drinking coffee here a lot from here on out, you know.”

  “Is this your way of asking me to move in with you, Alton?”

  “Can’t imagine where else you’d live. That apartment of yours sounds pretty lonely now that your shitty ex and shittier roommate have finally cleared out. And besides…” I gestured to the open floor plan behind Eliot, the way the kitchen bled into the living room which bled into the dining room. “What else am I going to do with all this space?”

  “Raise a family, I suppose,”
Eliot suggested. “Speaking of which…shouldn’t we be picking up your daughter?”

  I smiled softly, taking the mug from him and moving it to the counter, then taking his jaw in my hands. “Riley’s bringing her around in a couple of hours. You know how she is—always sleeping in.”

  I kissed his lips as best I could, neither of us able to stop smiling for long enough to manage a more proper kiss. He was warm, still supple from a good night’s sleep, and the way his body felt as his hips moved against mine stirred something in me—not just my cock, but my heart. My soul.

  …And also, obviously, my cock. A fact that Eliot was far too clever to have missed.

  “If we have a few hours still, you know… We could take this back to bed.”

  “The coffee?” I asked, playing dumb.

  He laughed. “Maybe after. The only hot thing I want in my mouth right now is, well…you, Alton.”

  My eyes darted toward the hall, then back to Eliot’s sparkling green gaze. “Race you there.”

  He bounced up on his heels, giving me a final peck before taking off back toward the bedroom. “You’re on!”

  Epilogue

  Anders

  It was the kind of night that broke me in the best kind of way. The crowd had been on fire, cheering at all the impressive parts of my routine, howling with laughter at the funny bits, wolf-whistling at the slightest hint of anything sexual. And thanks to the Ballroom’s billing as the hottest burlesque joint in town, I would walk home with more money than I ever would have when I was little more than an exotic dancer—without so much as a single lap dance or a straying set of billion-dollar hands to deal with for the rest of the night.

  My body felt completely spent, achingly sore from the fatigue of my routine, but my spirits were soaring high. Add in a drink or two of some spirits of a different kind at the bar once all the investment bankers and financial managers went home for the night, and I had a hunch that this would be the best I’d ever felt. Maybe in a long, long time.

  It had been a rough set of years since I started dancing at the Ballroom—most of them spent in the worst kind of fear. Who would have thought that taking off your clothes for a living might have some setbacks—like the inability to nail down a long-term relationship, for starters. And as for the creeps, sleazebags and assholes…it was safe to say that turning the club into a burlesque venue was one of the best moves that Foster ever could have made for us. The dancers were safer now, the money was better than ever before, and for the first time in a long while, I finally felt like the dark clouds of my past were fading out into sunshine.

  And maybe—just maybe—this time, that sunshine would stay for a while.

  I let out a howl as I jogged into the locker room, adrenaline coursing through my veins. It felt good to perform. To be appreciated. To go to work every night doing what I loved—and to actually make enough money doing it that I didn’t have to live on the rough side of town anymore. All that was missing, I guessed, was someone to share it with—a fact that I was reminded of as I spotted a familiar face at the lockers where we kept our gym bags, and a not-so-familiar belly filling out his t-shirt.

  “Eliot! You came back to us!” I ran at him, resisting the urge to jump on his back and locking him into a careful bear hug instead. “After you told Foster that fancy Upper East Sider knocked you up, we didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”

  “Anders.” Eliot laughed as he hugged me back. “I just popped in to catch the end of the show from backstage—and to clean out my locker. Baby brain, you know.” He nodded to the locker that had belonged to him back when he’d danced alongside the rest of us. “Weird, how much stuff I forgot I’d left in this thing.”

  “Hmm. Yeah, I hate to break it to you, but I think you might be a hoarder, man.” I chuckled as I spotted the mountain of items Eliot had piled on the bench behind him—gym clothes, mostly. Some half-finished bottles of baby oil that I would have swiped for myself if it wasn’t for the fact that Eliot would soon have an actual baby to use it on for once, instead of just glistening up his muscles with it. “God, you’ve got everything here—look, you’ve even got a present you haven’t even opened yet.”

  “Huh?” Eliot raised an eyebrow, turning to follow my gaze to a sleek-looking white package tied up in bow made from golden ribbon. “That’s…weird. Usually you’re the one who got all the gifts from secret admirers and such.”

  I shrugged—it was true. Whether it was back when I’d had to grind on billionaires in the champagne room to make rent for the month, or in these new days where I just had to smile and wink and belt my favorite Elton John lyrics, I’d never had a lack of adoring fans. But of course, sometimes those fans came with setbacks—the kind that I wasn’t looking to revisit anytime soon. Not now that everything seemed to be going so well.

  “You should open it,” I suggested. “Maybe one of our audience members paid Blake or one of the other bouncers to slip it into the locker for you.”

  Eliot reached for the package tentatively, flicking open the little gold envelope on top and half-groaning, half-laughing when he read its contents.

  “It is for you, you obnoxious thing.” He pushed the package toward me, shaking his head as he turned back to his cleaning. “Says so on the card. Blake must have put it in my locker by mistake.”

  “Huh. Good thing that Alpha of yours is already spoiling you with more presents than you know what to do with.”

  I ran my thumbs over the pristine white wrapping, fighting the urge to explain to Eliot how lucky he was that he’d found someone like Alton. I couldn’t say the same was in my cards at the moment—especially since I hadn’t dated in years at this point. It would have been nice, having an Alpha like that to look after you. Start a family with. Keep you safe.

  I glanced at Eliot’s pregnant stomach again, the way he caressed it idly without even realizing it, and toyed with the notion of getting back on Grindr or something again. It was probably written all over my face, how bad I wanted what he had. That safety and security. The knowledge that when he went home that night, he’d go home to a loving fiancé when all I had to look forward to was a stupid mystery gift, an empty apartment and a bottle of wine.

  “You should open it,” Eliot said, snorting when he saw the way I was caressing the paper wrapping. “Don’t pretend like you’re not curious.”

  I took a deep breath, pushing the paper back gently at first, then giving up and ripping through it impatiently. It was a beautifully wrapped thing. Probably done up by a professional at Macy’s, or by some horny Alpha’s meticulous personal assistant, if I had to hazard a guess.

  But the moment that I pried the lid off the box, my heart plunged into my gut and lodged itself there so hard, I didn’t think it would ever rise up again—until it did, slamming itself into my throat instead.

  “Well? What is it?” Eliot craned his neck to see the box’s contents, and I tipped them toward him with a trembling hand.

  A single white rose.

  A lock of dark hair.

  A note.

  And worst of all…a heavy, sharp-looking butcher’s knife.

  “What the fuck?” Eliot swore, taking the package from me immediately. “Anders…you don’t think it’s…”

  “It has to be.” I tried to draw in a breath, and realized that I almost couldn’t. My ribs were crushing in around my lungs like a vice. “What’s the note say?”

  Eliot read over the calligraphy on the stark white paper quickly, the color draining from his face with every word he took in.

  “You…might not want to know.”

  “Please,” I choked out. “Just…just tell me. I have to know.”

  “‘I’ll always love you, Anders,’” he read, his voice trembling just as badly as my hands were. “’Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten you.’”

  “Is that all?” I asked, bracing for the worst.

  Eliot shook his head, breathing out a ragged breath as he finished the final line. “‘I’m coming for you s
oon.’”

  Book 6

  Saving His Angel

  Heaven’s Ballroom: Book 6

  Aiden Bates

  © 2019

  Disclaimer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).

  1

  Blake

  Picture me: six-three flatfooted, six-five in my combat boots. Two hundred and five pounds of muscle and the steel rods they put in my legs after that hostage hand-off went sideways in Az Zahir. Ice blond hair like Ivan Drago in Rocky IV, only mine doesn’t look like it was styled by Sonic the fucking Hedgehog, which I consider to be a pretty big improvement. I’ve long since shaved the beard that tends to mark all of us Navy SEALs as roughnecks and renegades—since I’m not any of those things anymore—but you can bet your sweet ass I’ve still got the physique.

  Now picture the idiot investment banker who was staring up at me like he’d much rather be staring me down: greasy, slicked-back hair. Thin, sneering lips. So close to me that he’s having to pick which of my steely blue eyes to focus on, so drunk he can’t really focus on much of anything beyond his own false sense of machismo. A real redheaded stepchild of a bastard, which I’d be able to sympathize with if he wasn’t taking out his Daddy issues on the dancers I consider it my duty to protect. Five-ten on a good day, but his Grindr profile says he’s three inches taller.