Drake
“Why don’t we head up to my office to talk numbers,” Mario says to Hunter, and I immediately halt in place.
“Uh, I think I’ll just wait at the bar. Numbers aren’t really my thing.”
Hunter’s expression has a hint of panic in it and I like that. I like that he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight here.
“Feel free to have a look around. Get the full Pitch experience,” Mario says with a suggestive bounce of his brow.
Hunter’s expression of panic and concern only deepens.
“Sounds good. Meet you back here in an hour,” I say, waving at Hunter as we part ways, him to the office and me to the bar. Of course, I’m not actually going to the bar. Why would I waste my time sitting alone drinking a Dr. Pepper when I could be checking out these fuck fests behind me?
I’m not going to touch anyone. I may not be the best guy, but I would never do anything to hurt Isabel or Hunter.
I’m just too fucking curious to pass this up. But as I head toward the rooms, I’m suddenly faced with three doors—well, technically two, since one is for women only. I don’t know what leads me toward the men-only door, but maybe it’s the promise that male sex tends to be a little more enthusiastic, in my experience. It’s likely to be a better time, even if I keep my hands and cock to myself. It’s also going to be harder to keep those things to myself in here, since men are also a lot less subtle, but I can handle them.
The moment I pass through the doorway, I walk down a longish hallway until I meet the guard at the end. There’s a door behind him and a door to the right labeled locker room.
“First time?” he asks.
“Is it that obvious?”
He smiles, then gestures to the door on his left. “Feel free to use the locker room before going in. You can wear whatever you want in the dark room, but condoms are mandatory and I will be checking.”
My brows rise as I nod. “Yes, sir.” I guess that means I’ll be hitting up the locker room first…and getting myself hard while I’m at it, since I have to go in suited up. Shouldn’t be too difficult. Even through the loud music, I can hear everything in the other room. It sounds exactly like what it is. Lots of people fucking.
There are bowls of condoms on the counter and men moving about the dimly-lit space, some naked, some dressed. I grab a rubber and head over to a curtained stall to get myself ready. Some guys aren’t shy about making themselves hard out in the open. I’ll do just about anything, but I’ll save jacking myself off in public for sexier scenarios.
As I peel open my jeans, I find my man already at half-staff. It’s like he knows we’re in a sex club, reacting the same way a dog might react to pulling up to the dog park. Ready to play.
Sorry, bud. We’re just here to watch.
It only takes a simple reminder of the shit that went down last night to get my cock hard enough to roll on the condom. Isabel cuffed to that bench. Hunter coming down her throat. The look on his face as he climaxed. The way his abs contracted and his tattoos practically rippled with his orgasm.
All right, I should stop, or I’m going to blow early and miss my chance to experience the dark sex cave.
I’ve already decided I’m going to go into the room fully clothed. It’ll help to keep a barrier between me and anyone with the wrong idea. So, with my jeans still undone, I take my safely-sheathed cock out to the bouncer to show him that I’m ready to play…although I’m really ready to do absolutely nothing.
A waste of a condom, if you ask me.
The bouncer nods appreciatively at my cock and gives me a flirty wink before opening the door to let me in. “Have fun,” he mutters before I disappear into the darkness.
True to its name, it’s dark as fuck in here. Easing my way in, I watch the green glow-in-the-dark markers on the floor that lead me through the room, so I don’t topple over people or furniture.
I hear grunting off to the side, and I pause for a moment, trying to see who or what made the noise, but I can’t make out shit. There are more of the glow-in-the dark markers on the floor and a few on the walls with exclamation points stationed at various spots. Those must be the emergency buttons Mario told us about. And when I spot a green dot moving, I realize it’s on a bouncer.
When someone touches my arm, I flinch. “Excuse me,” the man mumbles before brushing past me. It’s such an eerie feeling, knowing anyone in here could touch me. I could literally fuck someone in here and never know what they look like or what their name is. It’s bizarre as hell when you think about it. But also…strangely liberating.
It doesn’t matter what you look like here. It doesn’t matter if you know them or even if you don’t like them. It’s all about chemistry and feeling.
For the first time since I walked in, I’m actually regretful that I can’t do anything because it sounds fun as fuck. Playing the field without knowing who you’re even playing with. Or, if you’ve played with them before. Hell, I bet this would be a great way to date. No judgment or preconceived notions. Just two souls finding each other.
It’s almost romantic, if you think about it.
The grunting to my right doesn’t sound very romantic, though. Leaving them behind, I keep on walking through the green markers. I hear more sex on either side of me and as my eyes start to adjust, I meander away from the path and find an empty space to just be alone and observe—as much as I can when I can’t see shit.
I feel someone watching me. It’s too hard to make out for sure, but there’s definitely a figure standing a few feet away, and I get the feeling that they’re staring at me—if that’s even possible. Glancing up at the ceiling, I spot the red blink of a security camera on each corner, which is reassuring. They really do try to keep shit safe in here.
I hear footsteps approach before I feel a set of small hands brush over my biceps. “Oh, hey,” a soft voice says as he fondles the muscle through my shirt. He sounds young and he’s definitely a lot smaller than me.
“Move along, kid,” I say, pressing a hand gently against his arm, trying to lead him toward a more willing person in the room.
“I’ll suck your dick,” he says sweetly, still touching my arm.
“That’s sweet, but no thanks.”
“You waiting for someone? I love a party.”
See? Never subtle.
“Have a good night,” I reply, hoping he just gets the hint and takes off. His fingers linger, dragging a line across my abdomen as he walks away, and I let him have his moment. If all he wants is a little touch, then knock yourself out.
But his fingers are only gone for a moment, before I’m ambushed by someone much larger and stronger. I panic, throwing up my arms as a firm hand grips the back of my neck and turns me away from the young guy, pushing me farther into the room. I stumble through the dark, afraid of walking into someone or over something. When I glance back at the man guiding me, I catch the subtle outline of something on his face and realize he’s wearing the night-vision goggles the bouncers wear.
Am I in trouble for something?
I’m about to protest, but I’m suddenly slammed against a hard wall, and the goggles come off his face in a quick swipe. I know this because I hear them hit the floor. I still can’t see him or anything, but there’s no time to try because his mouth is suddenly on mine. With one hand firmly around the back of my neck, he kisses me hard. Delicate stubble around his lips scratches with mine, and when he pulls his tongue out of my mouth, he nibbles on my lower lip.
“Mine,” he mutters darkly, and my cock stirs in response.
Hunter.
I’ve only kissed him once, but I know this move already. I memorized that first kiss. Every little playful swipe of his tongue, I know by heart. I feel for his chest, running my hands over the lapels of his jacket, up to his cotton undershirt and astute tie secured at the top. It smells like him and feels like him and tastes like him, but fuck, it’s so dark in here, and it’s messing with my head. Is he really in here? Would Hunter even do this? Last night was an experiment, and we haven’t talked about it since, so I’m not quite sure if he’s mentally there yet.
God, I want to believe it’s him. And I need to know. So I gently pull away.
“Hunter?” I ask.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, and now I know. It’s him.
I think.
His mouth takes mine again. Letting out a groan, he bites and nips at my entire mouth in a lust-filled fury. I’m drunk on this kiss, like I’m being carried away by a strong tide, and I’m powerless against it. His body is pressed to mine, and I can’t get my hands on him enough, so my mind is overwhelmed as well as torn, not sure if I should be focusing on the feel of his mouth or the sensation of his hard body under my fingertips. Soon, my brain focuses on nothing, just drowning in sensation. Without sight, I am nothing but a pile of flesh and bone and this all-consuming need.
It feels like we’ve been kissing for so long. Another man more comfortable with gay sex might have moved on by now, but Hunter is still so uncertain. The hand on the back of my neck slides to the front, holding me by the throat as he presses me against the wall again.
Our lips part, and although I can’t see him and he can’t see me, it feels as if we’re looking at each other. Then I feel his other hand drift down my chest, over my stomach, and finally into my still open pants. When his hand wraps around my cock, I jolt and let out a grunt.
Hunter is holding my cock.
It’s just a hand, but for some reason, this one feels better than all the rest. His warm, fierce grip creates a lightning strike all the way down my spine and I shift my hips to get more.
The darkness makes everything so much more visceral. I can’t see anything, only feel, which makes the sensation of his stroking that much more intense. Desperate to show him just how good it feels, I reach for his cock, but I find that his pants are still buttoned up tight. So I use both hands to unfasten his belt, then the button and zipper. The whole time he’s thrusting his hips toward me, seeking out my touch.
When I have his pants open, I dig my hand into his boxers, pulling out the steel heat inside.
He’s not wearing a condom.
God, this better fucking be Hunter and not just some horny bouncer who caught me at a weak moment.
“Fuck yes,” he growls when I stroke his cock, and I instantly feel better at the sound of his voice. I’d know that voice anywhere. His fingers around my throat tighten as we work each other, but I need more. For all I know, this could be the only time and place Hunter is comfortable exploring this, so I’m not going to waste it on hand jobs.
It would seem my best friend is reading my mind because I feel a certain tug on my throat and I know he’s trying to shove me down.
“Suck me off,” he says, low and commanding, and I eagerly drop to my knees in front of him. I don’t know why I look up, but I do. Even if I could see his face, he wouldn’t give me a chance. With a hand on the back of my head, he guides his cock to my mouth, and I open for him, letting him slide his length across my tongue.
I let him go deep. Deep enough to feel my throat constrict around him.
“Oh fuck,” he barks.
He thrusts into my mouth hard for a few strokes before I take the base of his cock in my hand and get to work on my own. Coating his dick in saliva, I suck hard on the head before swallowing him down again. His grip on my hair tightens.
“God…Drake.” He moans, and the sound of my name on his lips like this urges me on. It feels so natural, like we should have been doing this all along. He’s incoherent, mumbling and groaning and barely breathing as I keep up the motion of my mouth around him.
“Need to come,” he grunts, and I suck the head again, ready for him. My hands clutch him hard around his ass, pulling him deeper, hoping he feels it, hoping he knows this is my way of saying I want you. I need you. The hand on the back of head is joined by the other, both of them drifting down to my neck as Hunter curls himself around me. It’s intimate and sexy as fuck, and I can feel my cock leaking beads of cum into the condom sheathed around it. I’m desperate to touch myself, but I don’t want to let him go.
A moment later, he’s shuddering and crying out as the warm, salty drops hit the back of my tongue. Once he’s let it all out, I swallow, lapping up his dick again, not quite ready to let this moment end.
But it does end, like all good things. Because a moment later, Hunter is zipping up his pants and pulling away. I don’t see him leave. Well, I can’t see shit, but when I reach out for him, he’s already gone.
I kneel in the darkness for a while. I consider jacking off, but the devastation of being so impersonally used and discarded has my dick deflating.
And the entire time I sit there, I try to put myself in Hunter’s shoes. This was his first sexual encounter with someone of the same sex. That had to be pretty intense. Maybe a little scary. He obviously liked it, and I’m sure he’s off somewhere questioning everything about himself.
But that fucker left me on the floor. On the goddamn floor. And I can’t imagine a scenario in which I would do that to him.
I didn’t force his dick down my throat. If anything, it was the opposite.
After a while, I decide that my self-loathing pity party would be better spent somewhere with alcohol. So I pick my sad ass off the floor, find the exit, discard the unused condom, and text Hunter.
I’m going to a bar. I’ll order a ride back to the apartment later.
I’m marching through the main room, staring down at my phone, when I hear him call my name.
“Drake,” he barks, putting himself in my path. “Where are you going?”
“Did you get my text?” My eyes skim over his suit, remembering the way it felt in my hands, the lapels, the shirt, the tie…the belt. I could argue with him right now, but I don’t want to. I’m mad, but I’m more in the mood to stew about it than fight.
“I’ll come with you,” he replies, and I look at his face for the first time. His expression is chaotic and unsure, but I hope he reads the emotion in mine. You left me on the fucking floor.
“I’ll meet you at the apartment,” I reply, and without another word, I leave.
He doesn’t follow me or call me or argue. He just lets me go.
There’s a dive bar down the street from the club and it’s perfect for what I need. I’m on a mission to get drunk fast, so I don’t talk to anyone, flirt, or converse. I just drink. It takes roughly three hours before I’m good and wasted. I still feel sad, but my inebriated brain can no longer form self-deprecating thoughts to accompany all the gloom.
