by LA Witt
He eyed me. “So, the things people say, they’re not true?”
“If they told you the place was boring, Americanized or a dump? Then no, they’re not true.”
“Interesting,” he said, more to himself than to me.
“Trust me,” I said. “This place is awesome. You just have to, you know, get off the fucking bases and go check it out.”
“Is that right?” He rested his elbow on the bar. “So what else haven’t I been told about this island?”
“I don’t suppose anyone mentioned the castles?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Castles? No, I can’t say they did.”
I chuckled. “Didn’t you do any homework before you came out here?”
He rolled his eyes and gave me a good-humored scowl. “I got slam orders. Forget researching the place. I barely had time to schedule a pack-out.”
I grimaced. “Oh, ouch.”
“Yeah.” He took a drink, holding my gaze over the rim of his glass. As he set it down, he said, “So. Castles? Do tell.”
Thank God for that easy conversation piece. Nothing like a bunch of fourteenth-century castles to give us something to talk about while I tried to get used to just being this close to him. My heart pounded all the way through the stories of exploring the ruins of Katsuren, Nakagusuku, Shuri, and Nakijin Castles. When he asked about some of the hiking trails, the legendary aquarium, and the Japanese Navy Underground Headquarters, I had to ask him to repeat himself. I blamed it on the loud music, which was a convenient enough excuse. He didn’t need to know I was too distracted by thoughts of what he could do with his mouth to understand the words those perfect lips formed.
All through the conversation, one thing neither of us brought up was work. We both had the posture and haircuts, and we were both Americans on Okinawa. The vast majority of men who came to the island were military, and Palace Habu may as well have been a gay officers’ club. That answered any questions either of us might have cared to ask about what we did, and the less we knew about each other’s jobs, the less anyone here might overhear anything. In fact, right now, I didn’t give a shit what he did for a living, and I’d have bet money he didn’t care what I did. If I wanted to talk about work, I’d be out with my buddies from work.
And all the while, as we talked about the island and everything it had to offer, I still couldn’t quite find my equilibrium. The things this man did to my head were unreal. Especially since I was right about one thing: Eric didn’t shy away from eye contact. Not at all. And the more he held my gaze, the harder it was for me to hold his. Captains and admirals couldn’t get a flinch out of me, but he had me seeking refuge in my drink like a nervous kid.
After a while, as they often do, the conversation reached a lull. One of those moments when neither of us was in any hurry to leave, but we didn’t know each other well enough to know which direction to take the conversation.
I surreptitiously tapped my fingers on my knee beneath the bar, trying to figure out my next move. Some guys liked dancing. Me, I preferred to wait on breaking a sweat until the clothes had come off. Eric threw a few glances toward the dance floor, but most guys who were itching to dance couldn’t help keeping time with the music. Tapping a foot, drumming fingers, nodding to the beat. Not Eric. Wherever we went from here, the dance floor wasn’t it.
Eric gestured at my drink, which was almost empty. “Refill?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He smiled. “It’s on me this time.” He flagged down the bartender and ordered us a couple of drinks.
Silence once again set in, and it didn’t help that the music was getting progressively louder. This place never got extremely crowded, but more guys had arrived since Eric showed up, and there would probably still be more. More people, more music, more noise. I glanced at Eric. Maybe out here in the loud, wild open wasn’t the place to continue this conversation.
With a sharp but subtle nod, I indicated the other side of the room. “Want to grab a booth? It’s quieter over on that side of the club.”
“Sure.” He picked up his drink. “Lead the way.”
Most of the booths were occupied, but we found an empty one near the back. I slid onto the bench, and Eric followed. Though we were still in public, the high walls on three sides of us offered the appearance of complete privacy. We may as well have been alone now, and if not for the murmur of voices straining to be heard over the thumping music, I might have convinced myself we were.
“You’re right,” he said. “It is quieter back here.”
“Thank God,” I said.
“You know this club pretty well, I’m guessing?” he asked.
“Well enough.”
“You come here a lot?”
I laughed. “At the risk of sounding like a complete whore, probably more than I should.”
An unreadable thought narrowed Eric’s eyes and raised one corner of his mouth. “So you probably know all the little games people play between buying the first drink and getting into bed, don’t you?”
I gulped. He was certainly…direct. “I, um, yeah. You could say I’ve played them a few times.” I reached for my beer because my mouth had suddenly gone dry. After I’d taken enough of a drink to moisten my parched tongue, I set the glass on the tiny table. These booths were more bench than table; I wondered if the designers had the same idea I did for how to put such a booth to good use. I wondered if Eric had the same idea. Meeting his eyes, I said, “You know those games pretty well yourself, then?”
“I do.” He absently swirled his drink, ice cubes clinking against the sides of the glass. “And to be honest, I hate playing them.”
So much for my mouth not being dry. I coughed into my fist. “Do you, now?”
He nodded and held absolutely rock-solid, unwavering eye contact as he said, “Let’s just say, when it comes to things like this, I’m more of a shortest-distance-between-two-points kind of guy.” A quiet laugh parted his lips and sent my pulse into the stratosphere. Higher still when he added, “Leaves more time and energy to enjoy the destination, don’t you think?”
God damn, but he was aggressive. Usually, I was the forward one. I was the one who bought a drink for a guy before he even made it to the damned bar. I sure as fuck wasn’t the one who broke eye contact first or waited for the other guy to make a move. I was never caught off guard when someone all but brazenly suggested we go someplace else and fuck, because I was usually the one who said it. I wasn’t used to someone who was easily as aggressive as I was, almost to the point of intimidating.
I wasn’t used to it, but I liked it.
I moved closer to him and draped my arm across the back of the bench. Before I could even speak, Eric’s eyes flicked toward my arm, then met my own, and the grin on his lips said nothing if not, That the best you got?
Oh, so it’s gonna be like that, is it?
In one smooth motion, my arm was around his shoulders. He broke eye contact long enough to watch his own hand deposit his glass on the table, and as he looked at me again, his now-free hand went to my leg.
I cleared my throat just to get some air moving. “So are you suggesting you prefer to skip everything between point A and point B, and go directly to point B?”
His hand drifted farther up my thigh. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” If I thought his eyes were intense when they locked on my own, they damn near liquefied my spine when they flicked to my lips, then met mine again. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was thinking, and I didn’t doubt I wore the exact same thoughts on my sleeve. We both knew where this was going, and now we stared each other down, our eyes issuing silent dares to make the next move.
I let my gaze flick to his lips. The corner of his mouth rose slightly, bringing that almost-there grin to life and sending a shiver right through me. Then we made eye contact, and we both moved in for the kill.
Our lips met, and everything was still. The club pulsed and flickered around us, but here in this booth, nothing moved except my pounding heart.
Slowly, we eased into motion, wrapping our arms around each other as I dragged my lower lip across his. Eric’s hand continued up my inner thigh, and I was sure he intended to tease my painfully hard cock through my shorts. Instead, though, he lifted his hand, then let his fingers drift up the front of my shirt, catching every button on the way up like a silent countdown to making contact with my neck.
Three…
His fingers snagged just below my collar.
Two…
Eric parted my lips with his tongue.
One.
Warm skin grazed the side of my throat.
I closed my eyes and shivered, and Eric took advantage of my being off guard just long enough for him to shove me up against the back of the booth. His kiss went from still and calm to desperate and violent, and I raked my fingers through his hair, returning his kiss with equal ferocity. We both drew sharp, rapid breaths that hissed over the music.
God damn, I wanted to take him someplace private, but I didn’t want to stop. Not long enough to stand up, get a cab, go somewhere else and start all over again. I was hard-pressed to think coherently right now, never mind to stop kissing Eric.
His mouth was vaguely sweet with the drink I’d bought him. It was something strong; that much was for certain, though I couldn’t identify it. I didn’t imagine a man like him needed much liquid courage, but if he did, he certainly used it well.
He held the back of my neck with an unforgiving hand, pressing his fingers in just enough to order me to banish any thoughts of pulling away. As if pulling away was an option. His deep, demanding kiss was fucking addictive.
I slid my hand over the front of his shorts, and he whimpered into my kiss, pushing his erection against my palm. His hand materialized over the back of mine, pressing it even harder against his cock as he kissed me hungrily. Goose bumps prickled every inch of my skin as blood pounded in my ears.
I grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. He groaned, then gasped when my lips met the hot flesh of his throat. He dug his fingers into my back, and we both pressed against each other as I kissed up and down the side of his neck.
He wore some kind of spicy cologne, and it overwhelmed my senses. On some visceral level, I recognized it. I’d smelled it before. Whatever association I might have had with that cologne and some other memory was erased, though, at least for now. All it said to me now was Eric. I’m breathing Eric.
The thought of inhaling that spicy, Eric-cologne while I was deep inside him drove me out of my mind. I couldn’t wait. Not another goddamned minute. We had to get out of here, or we were going to end up fucking in the men’s room.
I was used to men who balked at my aggression, not someone who saw my offer of a drink and raised me a blatant comment about skipping the games and cutting to the chase. I usually had to rein it back to keep from scaring a guy away. Not Eric. He gave as well as he took. Hell if I knew if he was a bottom, a top, or if he—please, please, God, please—switched, but I didn’t really fucking care. I had to get this man into bed.
I brought my head up and, just before our lips brushed, said, “What do you say we get the fuck out of here and get to point B?”
Chapter Three
Eric
I couldn’t say if it was Shane’s breath warming my skin, his hand over my erection or the blatant acknowledgment this night wasn’t ending until we fucked, but as soon as he suggested leaving, I damn near came. The hot guys were never aggressive enough for my taste, but Shane was both sexy and brazen. And for tonight? Mine.
I kissed him harder. He gripped my hair tighter and pulled me closer. This wasn’t like me. Not even close. I could be almost businesslike in my pursuit of a one-night stand. Buy a drink, exchange some small talk, flirt enough to test the water, then get the fuck out of there. That all went to hell right about the time I found out what Shane’s kiss tasted like, and I couldn’t let him go even while my mind tried to tell me the only way I’d get him naked was if I pried myself off him long enough to get the fuck out of here. Just…just one more kiss. One more minute. Maybe two.
It must have been at least ten minutes before we finally pulled ourselves apart enough to make an effort to leave the club. Maybe longer than that. The ice had melted in my neglected drink, but for all I knew, that was just from being in such close proximity to the two of us.
Panting just as much as I was, he asked, “Ready to get out of here?”
“Definitely.”
We stayed at the booth for a couple more minutes, catching our breath and calming down so we could walk out of here without being too obvious about where we were going or why. My drink was appallingly watered down, thanks to the melted ice, but I didn’t care. At least it was cool. Sort of.
We’d already paid our tabs, so we shouldered our way through the crowd and the fog to the exit. We stepped out of the club into the hallway that would take us to the stairwell. Before we reached the stairs, Shane stopped and pulled out his phone.
“I’ll get us a cab,” he said and speed-dialed a number that presumably connected to a taxi company. He spoke to the person on the other end in impressively fluent Japanese, and a moment later hung up and slid his phone into his back pocket. “Ready?”
“Very.”
We started down the stairs, but another thought crossed my mind: if we got into a cab on Gate Two Street, someone might see us. It was way too visible out there.
“Wait.” I touched his arm. He stopped and looked back at me, eyebrows up. I gestured down the stairs past us. “We, um… isn’t Gate Two Street a little out in the open for us to leave together?”
He smiled. “Don’t worry about it. We’re not going out that way.”
I hesitated. “Which way are we going?”
“There are tons of back roads and alleys through here. No one will see us.” He put a hand on the railing and pushed himself up to kiss me lightly. “Trust me. I’ve done this before, and I don’t want to be seen any more than you do.”
After another moment’s hesitation, I nodded. “All right, let’s go.”
At the bottom of the stairwell, we stepped out into the muggy evening air. Instead of turning right to go back to Gate Two Street, we went left. The alley narrowed and zigzagged between oddly shaped buildings.
“I guess before we get in the cab,” he said as we walked, his voice low even though the alley was pretty much a ghost town. “We should figure out where we’re going.”
I glanced at him in the low light. “Well, your place or mine?”
“I’m only a few clicks from here,” he said. “Maybe ten or fifteen minutes by cab.”
“I live out by Awase and White Beach,” I said. “Which is…” I hesitated. “Um, well, I guess you’d know better than I would. I’m still learning the area, but, twenty or thirty minutes, maybe?”
He smiled. “My place, then. If that’s all right with you?”
“Fine by me.”
My heart beat faster. We both walked a little faster. Christ, we couldn’t get to his place fast enough. Some of the shadowy corners in this alley were starting to look really tempting, and to hell with the consequences if someone caught us. Tempting. Very tempting.
As we walked, I struggled to keep my feet under me and not steal too many glances at him. I’d hoped to find someone for a night, but he was more than I’d bargained for. Thank God I’d had the bar to casually lean on earlier when the bartender had pointed out the guy who’d bought my drink, because Shane was fucking gorgeous. His hard, angular features made my mouth water, the cockiness in his posture screamed the kind of confident boldness that melted me in bed, and his piercing green eyes weakened my knees. Good thing he’d bought me a drink, because my mouth went dry the instant I looked his direction.
So I’d taken a drink just to moisten my tongue and started toward him. Then, of course, another jackass had stepped in between us. The room was just crowded enough, I couldn’t body-swerve him as easily as I would have liked, and he was insistent as all hell in s
pite of my polite attempts to exit the conversation. Well, at least until I told him I was a power top with a couple of “questionable” fetishes. Bullshit, of course, but he quickly lost interest, got the fuck out of my way and left me to introduce myself to the gorgeous man who now walked beside me down an alley to meet a taxi.
Okinawa was more than welcome to be a complete shit-hole as long as there were men here like Shane. It had been several minutes since we’d kissed, and my lips still tingled. He was what my ex would have called a Goldilocks kisser: not too forceful, not too timid, but just right. Was he ever. I was used to men who either kissed so gently they tickled my mouth, or those who almost bruised my lips. Shane was bold and assertive without overdoing it, and he didn’t balk at my own boldness or assertiveness.
God, I had to find out what he was like in bed.
Soon, Randall. Soon.
The alley bent once more and spilled out onto a mostly deserted street. Pale streetlights illuminated immaculate flower planters and signs above nail salons, travel agencies, and shops I couldn’t identify, thanks to metal doors that had been rolled down over their windows. There were a few cars parked here and there, but otherwise, the place was empty. By day, it was probably as alive with activity as Gate Two Street was after dark. Not now, though.
“There’s our ride.” Shane nodded down the street, and two headlights approached. On top of the car was a glowing yellow dome with something written in kanji, and when the taxi stopped beside us with a muffled squeak of aging brakes, the green-and-white sign on the door read Taxi—On-Base Allowed.
That gave me pause. With the number of people having affairs and fucking around, base housing was a rumor mill if there ever was one. Two men coming home late in the evening could go unnoticed, or it could be very, very noticed. Not good.
When Shane opened the car door and gestured for me to get in, I hesitated.
“You do live off base, right?”
He shot me a toothy grin. “You think I’m crazy enough to bring a guy home in base housing?”
I chuckled. “Just checking.”