Page 7 of Praised
I looked around, finally allowing myself to notice the couples on the dance floor that were pressed a little too close together for things to look decent, the spattering of men who were shirtless, only wearing the soft and buttery-looking leather harnesses with jeans or leather pants on the bottom. I glanced around and looked up, finding what I assumed to be an organ loft that had been converted into something much less holy…or more, depending on how you looked at it.
“I love you, but I think you have ulterior motives,” I said.
“I’ve heard there’s good cruising in the bathroom.”
I allowed myself a glance toward the hallway behind the bar that led toward the restrooms before turning my attention back to Drake. “I don’t think it’s all that clandestine here. Pretty sure you could get it wherever you wanted.”
“What I want is upstairs,” he said.
I sighed. “Did you already set your sights on someone for the night?”
Drake was like me in some ways, but polar opposite in others. He was fully motivated by sex, but if our places had been swapped, he wouldn’t have cared one way or the other if he’d walked in on Cody and Adam. He would have joined in before Cody even had time to worry if he’d made a mistake. I loved him for that, the ease with which he played around with non-monogamy, because while there were lots of things I could get my head around, sharing my partner was not one of them.
“There’s someone over by the bar,” Drake admitted, cheeks so flushed I could see the color under the stained glass disco ball reflections. “Do you want to watch?”
Groaning, I closed my eyes, hating the way my cock did spark the slightest bit of interest at the request. Cody had called me a voyeur, and my body proved him right.
“Don’t use that against me,” I grumbled.
“I think it’s hot.” Drake grabbed my arm and pulled our faces close together. I could still smell the sugary whipped cream on his breath. “There’s nothing wrong with watching. Or being watched.”
“I know. I’m just still upset about Cody.”
“You can be upsetandhorny. The two feelings don’t exist in a vacuum, Rose.”
I hated that he was right, but being upset with Cody and turned on about being around so many people with erections was a complicated set of emotions to manage, especially considering how sober I was.
“Go get me a drink first and then go,” I said, finally giving in.
My response brought a megawatt smile to his face, and half the fight went out of me as he practically ran back to the bar. There wasn’t any harm in watching, and from the table I’d probably not be able to see much anyway. I could observe and sulk, and hopefully work up a little bit of a buzz. Not enough to call Cody, but a little bit, just so I didn’t want to cry. It was a little selfish of Drake to bring me out under the ruse of distracting me from being sullen about Cody just so he could go pick up a guy for himself, but it wasn’t like I was out there trying to get anything for myself either.
I really needed to get over my shit.
Shoving my hand into my pants, I adjusted my cock and balls in the soft, lace pocket of my underwear, then waited for Drake to return. The bartenders at Rapture were nothing if not efficient, because it felt like mere seconds before he was back with a salt-rimmed margarita for me to sip on.
“What’s he look like?” I asked.
Drake pointed toward the L-shaped corner of the bar. “Long and dark hair, olive skin. You see him?”
The man he was referencing was impossible to miss.
“I see him,” I said. Drake gave me a smile and returned to the crowd, heading for the bar yet again.
Taking my drink, I decided the middle of the room wasn’t the place for me. One, I was alone, and two, I didn’t want to look like a weirdo lurker. Carefully navigating through the crowd, I came to stop near the emergency exit door on the far wall. It felt like a secret little bubble, safe from the lights of the dance floor and the thrum of the other patrons dancing and laughing.
I watched as Drake made his way to the man in question, who looked like he was all long limbs and silken hair. Drake’s mark definitely wasn’t my type, but I knew Drake well enough to know all of his tells. He leaned in and smiled. He walked his fingers up the front of the other man’s chest, right to his throat and around the side of his neck. He took control without being dominant about it, but it was in the blink of an eye before the man switched the power play and turned, pressing Drake against the bar and leaning down to whisper something into his ear.
Of course, I couldn’t hear, but I didn’t need to. The fantasy of it was enough and my brain was quick to supply me with a fictional narrative to feed my own interests. I hated to admit that Drakehadbeen right. Getting out of the house was exactly what I needed. Even if I’d at first thought watching wouldn’t be enough to distract me, the quick downward flow of blood to my dick proved otherwise.
I allowed myself a sip of margarita, the tart mixture burning as it slid down my throat. Drake’s lashes fluttered and I watched the back of the other man’s arm move in a familiar up and down motion, his hand obscured. If he wasn’t jerking Drake off, he was getting close. With my free hand, I adjusted myself again, fighting back embarrassment over how quickly the scene had gotten me hard.
It was proof that my emotions had made me a walking disaster, so I forced myself to look away from Drake as to avoid coming in my underwear without so much as a hand from a stranger, let alone myself. But I didn’t find any solace in the other views the club provided because everywhere I looked, there was something good to see.
Half-dressed men in various states of arousal, women in leather skirts and tight-laced corsets that sucked their waists to nothing and pushed their soft tits skyward, couples and singles, and everyone in between. When I closed my eyes, the sounds from the loft filtered down over the music, leather against skin, laughter, the softest melody of someone’s moans.
I raised the little cocktail straws to my mouth for another drink. I needed more tequila, and then I needed fresh air. But first, I had to give Drake one more check-in before heading out front to get myself back under control. When I swallowed the last of my drink, I opened my eyes, searching out Drake and his raven-haired conquest. They were nowhere to be found, which wasn’t surprising, but the man heading toward me, dressed in tight black slacks and a crisp white button-up, sleeves rolled past his elbows and an expression on his face like he had something to prove, stopped me in my tracks.
CHAPTER3
