by Kelex
“You said you wanted top shelf. That’s where the pricey stuff sits,” the bartender said with a frown. “But you obviously knew that.”
“Oh, yeah,” Noah replied, tensing slightly. “I forgot.”
The bartender studied him through narrowed eyes.
“I don’t drink much.”
“No shit?”
“My dad… he’d drink… and get mean,” Noah shared, not sure why he was bringing his parents up to a complete stranger. “I don’t want to be like him.”
The bartender’s gaze softened a little.
“But I’m celebrating tonight. A drink and some dancing sounded fun.” He pulled out his wallet and took out a twenty. Slapping it on the bar, he eyed the man.
“What’cha celebrating?”
Remembering that the birthday on his fake ID was not that day, he stopped himself before potentially getting his ass into hot water. “My freedom,” Noah declared. “After a successful escape.”
“Bad breakup?” The corner of the man’s lips tilted. “Or prison break?”
“In some ways, you could say both.” Noah had left a bad relationship, and left the prison-like home his parents had tried to bind him inside. He grasped the tumbler and swallowed it whole—as he’d also seen in a movie. The liquor was like fire down his throat. He sputtered and coughed. “Fuck.”
The bartender chuckled. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”
“Maybe… I don’t… want hair… on my chest,” he said between gasping for air.
“You’ll be fine.” He leaned those big, muscular arms on the bar, moving closer. Noah bent forward a bit more, too. “Do I hear a bit of an accent? You must not be from around here.”
“Nope. I’m not from around here,” Noah said. “Though I have some family in the area.”
“Ah,” the man said. He glanced down the bar. “Be right back.”
A ripple of disappointment filled him as Noah watched the bartender take another order. He’d failed to keep the man’s attention.
Or had he? The bartender’s stare drifted to him as he prepared their drinks. A smile played over Noah’s lips at the development. Act casual. Don’t seem too interested. Turning on the stool, he surveyed the dancefloor. Soon, the music had ramped up again and he moved his upper body to the beat. The warmth of the whiskey burned through his arms and legs.
Everything was going a little liquid.
When he turned back to sneak a peek, the bartender was near, pouring him another drink.
“Oh no… I can’t—”
“It’s on me,” the bartender said before pouring himself a glass, too. He slid Noah’s glass back and then lifted his own. “To the end of a bad relationship and the potential of whatever’s coming next.”
Noah got a sudden surge of confidence. One drink wasn’t enough to be the cause, but he’d blame it either way. “I know I’d like to be the one who’s coming next.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his face flamed. Did I really just say that?
“Oh?” The man lifted one arched brow. A hint of a smile played at his very kissable lips.
Noah released a sigh of relief. He wasn’t being told ‘no’, which was a good sign. Right? He considered those lips another moment, wondering if they were as soft as they looked. Wondering if the beard and mustache would tickle.
Wondering if he actually had the nerve to fuck a complete stranger.
He’d run from a carload of danger, but now he was offering himself up as a sacrificial lamb? Difference was, his gut had screamed for him to run from the first. Now, it was telling him to get closer. Listening to his instinct, he captured the man’s gaze. “Know anyone who could help me make the most of my night?”
The bartender eyed him, a slight smirk on those sinful lips. Warmth ran through Noah’s veins. His cock jerked, thickening.
“I might,” the bartender said, desire glittering in his eyes. Another bartender stepped beside the man and whispered something. His bartender refocused on Noah. “I can take a break in a few, if you’re game?”
Noah grinned. “Oh, I’m definitely game.” Oh my god, what am I doing? He downed the second drink, needing a little more liquid courage if he was going to make it through the night. It burned, but not as bad as the first had.
Before Noah could lower the empty glass to the bar, someone sidled up to the bar and nearly pushed him out of the way. “Hey!”
Noah turned his focus on the guy who’d invaded his space. The newcomer was fluttering his lashes at the bartender. “Sorry I’m late, Daddy. You got that drink for me?”
Wait! He’s my daddy for the night! Noah’s focus moved to the bartender and the uncomfortable appearance in the man’s eyes. He poured the newcomer a drink from the same bottle they’d shared and slid it the new guy’s way.
“There you go. We even now?”
“What in the hell is this? I want a mojito!” his new barstool neighbor said before flashing Noah a glare. He glared back to the bartender. “You don’t remember anything from the other night, do you? I drink mojitos… and only mojitos.”
Even in the low light, Noah could see the bartender’s face darken.
Noah reached for the rejected drink and downed it, too. Already, he was starting to feel a tiny bit fuzzy around the edges and he rather liked it. “You must not have been too memorable,” slipped out of Noah’s lips. His own eyes widened. Maybe it had been the alcohol.
Definitely the alcohol.
“Who the fuck are you?” the guy beside him asked.
“Okay, guys…” the bartender said, but Noah didn’t really listen.
“Nobody,” Noah murmured.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Stay out of our conversation,” the guy replied.
“You’re the one who busted into ours,” Noah replied. He wasn’t sure where the bravado was coming from, but he rather liked that, too.
His barstool neighbor spun to fully face him. “Bitch, sit the hell down and close your mouth.”
“I thought I was sitting?” He turned to peer at the bartender. “What the hell is in that scotch? Am I standing and don’t realize it?”
“Funny guy,” Mr. Mojito yelled. “Why don’t you get the fuck out of here?”
Noah glanced at the bartender. “Should I leave? You tell me.”
Before the bartender could speak, the guy shoved Noah in the shoulder. Hard.
He landed on the floor.
Years of abuse… years of not defending himself… years of humiliation… it all roared to life inside him. He was up on his feet in a split-second and going for the guy—only the bartender had somehow raced around and gotten between them. The giant bouncer was there in a few seconds, too.
The volume of the music dipped for the DJ to say something—but apparently the man’s attention fell on the ruckus at the bar. The DJ’s pause was enough to have all eyes land on them. Heat crept up his neck… it was like the last time… when he’d been dragged out of the club. Mortified, he froze, memories of that embarrassment settling low in his belly.
“Get him out here,” the bartender spat, eyeing the other guy.
“What about him?” Mr. Mojito cried, pointing at Noah.
Noah cringed inwardly.
His bartender glared. “You hit him. You’re out. Permanent ban.”
Noah sighed. One down. One to go.
Mr. Mojito sneered. “Fuck you and this shitty joint… you’re all a bunch of worn out fags!” He opened his mouth to say more but was hauled out by the giant bouncer and another almost as big. The volume rose once more, the dancing commenced. Noah watched the man being dragged from the bar. The ranting continued, but the music was too loud for Noah to hear what was said.
Before Noah could realize what was happening, he was tugged into a quieter corner of the club—a short hallway to the kitchen perhaps. He wasn’t sure. What he could tell was that it was brighter than the interior of the club. Noah was able to better scrutinize his sexy bartender. The man was almost close
enough to be touching him. A song with a faster tempo began, the muted sound filling in the space between them. Noah smiled sappily, hoping he wasn’t about to be kicked out, too. Better put on the charm. “Hiya.”
“You okay?”
Heat spread through Noah’s face. “Yeah… yeah. Just bruised my pride.” He sighed, a little embarrassed. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut… I don’t normally do that.”
The bartender shook his head, trying to hide a smile, it seemed. “We don’t fight inside the club. You provoked him.”
“He was trying to push me out of the way and… I liked the view from my seat,” Noah murmured, the fuzziness growing.
“Yeah, it’s apparent you did. But no more fighting or you’re out, too.”
Oh my god… I’m not getting kicked out. Noah nodded, leaning in closer. “Okay…” He grinned. “Daddy.”
Nearly every one of his senses experienced the man’s gasp over that one, little word. Noah heard the hissing of breath. He felt the movement of the man’s chest. He perceived the widening of the eyes. The reaction empowered him.
He felt bolder after witnessing it.
His bartender licked those very kissable lips. Noah’s tongue darted out, too. After wetting it, he bit his bottom lip, hungry to feel weight and pressure on them. The taste of whiskey and whatever the man tasted of. Their gazes locked, and heat enveloped Noah—heat he was pretty sure wasn’t from the alcohol.
“Do you always take such a personal interest in the customers who come into the bar?”
The bartender held his gaze, a hint of a smile on those delicious-looking lips. “I was simply making sure you were okay. He was a bit aggressive.”
“Yeah… a little. But aggressive isn’t bad… when it’s sought.”
The bartender’s lips hitched up again… and a soft smile escaped.
It was Noah’s turn to gasp. He’d seen that smile before, but in the darkened bar. Now, he had a better view of that devastating grin that was enough to take him to his knees… pray for that blessing. Be a good, good boy. “You have such a nice smile.”
“Oh?”
Noah lifted his hand to caress the side of the bartender’s cheek. He stopped before touching him, though—realizing he might be crossing a line. “Sorry.”
Their eyes locked, and Noah was drowning. Hold on tight! His fingers itched to do just that.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I was about to touch you without asking permission… after you kicked out a man for pretty much doing the same to me.”
Noah was once again caught in the man’s intense stare.
“Touch away…”
He lifted his hand again and, this time, he caressed the man’s beard-covered cheek. “It’s softer than I thought it would be.”
“I take good care of it,” the bartender whispered.
“Would you take good care of me, too, Daddy?”
After a shiver raced through the man, his bartender leaned in closer. “You want to be my boy, hmm?”
“Yeah, Daddy. I wanna be your boy.”
He didn’t miss the tick pulse at the side of the guy’s forehead. Or fail to notice how his hands clenched into tight fists. His bartender liked the game. Noah would bet every dollar left in his pocket and more, if he could. When the man’s lips crashed down on his, Noah knew he was right.
His hands slid to palm the man’s chest as he got his first real taste. There was a hint of the whiskey and… cinnamon? Whatever it was, it tasted heavenly. Noah lowered a hand and grazed that hard piercing. He pinched the cooler metal and the nipple it punctured.
“Mmm, sorry to crash the party… but I need to get past,” a voice said beside them.
They broke apart—Noah breathless. He should’ve probably been a little embarrassed, but he was still reeling from the kiss. The woman passed them with her tray high before his daddy for the night leaned back in.
“I need to check in on the bar… make sure everything’s covered before I can sneak away. Can you give me a little bit? Like ten or so?”
“Sure. I’ll go have myself a dance or two, if that’s okay.”
The bartender nodded, holding his stare. “Don’t forget about me out there with all those hot men.”
“Impossible,” Noah murmured. He flicked the man’s nipple ring before heading for the dancefloor. Another song change hit seconds before he arrived—a club mix of one of his favorite songs—and he moved to the beat. His limbs grew looser… almost liquid. Soon, he was swaying between two older leather-clad men, bumping and grinding away. Giddy, he already felt much lighter.
Noah barked with laughter, the freedom electrifying. His thoughts went to the man at the bar. Turning, he saw he was being watched. A smile spread on his face. Warmth swelled through his limbs with the sensation of that heated regard. His body quickened, molten. Spinning away, he laughed and continued his celebrating.
Suddenly, he was pulled back against a strong chest. “Miss me?” was whispered against his ear. Noah smiled, leaning toward the man. Strong hands clasped his hips, fingertips almost bruising. The imprint of a hard cock pressed against his lower back—pulsing with life.
A cock that he was sure craved to claim him.
It was now or never. Either he followed through—or he ran away like a scared little boy.
I’m done being scared. I’m tired of running.
Circling in those strong arms, he eyed his sexy bartender. “Hiya, Daddy.”
The bartender growled against his ear. “You really like this daddy thing, hmm?”
Noah gasped, heat pumping through his veins. “Absolutely.”
They danced together, their bodies brushing close—a prelude of what would come next. Molten, Noah pressed against all the curves and shallows of his sexy bartender. One song became two… three. Sweat glistened over his body as they moved. The lights and the sounds, the freedom, coupled with the hot man—and the remnants of the liquor—and he was slightly intoxicated by it all.
This is really happening.
After dancing a few more minutes, his bartender captured his mouth in a kiss that took Noah’s breath away. Granted, he’d been dancing his ass off and was already a little winded—but even if he hadn’t been—that kiss would’ve left him gasping. When they parted, Noah focused on the man’s eyes and was lost.
Entranced.
The stare was intense, the excitement palpable.
Noah leaned closer and spoke against the guy’s ear, “You taste like cinnamon.”
“And you taste like fire,” the bartender replied. “I think I might like the burn.”
The man’s warm breath whispered over his ear, tickling the sensitive nerve endings there. It sent a shudder through Noah. The kiss along his neck and scrape of beard that followed caused more tremors. His cock tented his jeans, the soft lace of his manties suddenly too rough. It abraded his overly sensitive skin. The dance continued, drifting into a slower song once more. Bodies close, he ground his ass into the thick root behind him, desperate to feel it against his naked body.
Inside.
Deep inside.
The heat was getting to him. Peeling off his hoodie, he turned to face the man. As he tied it around his waist, he sensed the bartender’s fingers at the hem of his shirt before it was drawn off his body. Bare chested, he was cooler.
And a bit more vulnerable. The sensation lasted only a few seconds—until he was chest to chest with his dance partner.
Noah lifted his stare and was captured in dark heat. Hunger like nothing he’d experienced lingered there. He was no virgin, but it wasn’t like Noah had slept around, either. He’d had one hook-up—a bible camp counselor, of all things, and one brief partner on the DL—and all the sex had been terribly awkward. Both men had been older. Noah definitely had daddy issues and didn’t care. Luckily, from the looks of his dancing partner, he might have finally found a daddy who knew what he was doing.
Hopefully.
His inner voice was apparently on board
, for once. He’s got moves. That’s a good sign.
“Want to go cool off a moment?” his bartender whispered in his ear, the heat of his breath causing Noah to quiver. He realized there would be no cooling off.
Only more heat.
He leaned back and nodded, peeking through his lashes.
His hand was grabbed before he was led off the dancefloor. They managed their way through the throng of dancers and toward the back of the club. Noah’s bartender opened a door emblazoned with ‘No Entry’ before whisking them both inside.
3
Once the door closed behind them the sound of music was muted, though a heavy thump of the bass still washed over him. The light was a little brighter there, halogens casting illumination on dozens upon dozens of cardboard cases. Noah’s nostrils flared, assaulted by the scent of stale beer.
“Through here,” the bartender said, dragging him farther back.
They stopped before a door marked ‘Management’ and the guy pressed a code into the lock. A moment later, he was urged inside. Noah glanced around, realizing how alone they were. Doubt hit him for a brief moment. Anything could happen in that office.
No one could hear him scream.
It reminded him of the car he’d run from. Had he only ended up walking into a trap of similar design?
His gut told him no.
He spun to face his bartender. A small lamp cast meager light around the space filled with filing cabinets, a desk, an office chair, and an armchair that seemed to have seen better days. It wasn’t the most romantic of venues, but better than a men’s bathroom—which was all he’d been expecting.
“Quiet back here,” Noah whispered.
“Mmhmmm,” the bartender murmured. “Fewer prying eyes, too.”
“You don’t know,” Noah said with false bravado. He lifted a brow, smiling. “Maybe I like prying eyes.”
“If you’d rather move this elsewhere, just say the word,” the bartender answered with a grin. “I’m always game for a little show and tell, if you are.”
A tremor raced through Noah, and the bartender took a step closer. “I like that… show and tell.”
The man closed the gap, stopping inches from him. The look in his eye only caused Noah’s knees to weaken.