Page 27 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

CHRISTIANleaned back in his chair, taking a moment to observe the man sitting across from him. The one he did not know was an ancient god masquerading as a human.

Corey could practically feel the intensity of Christian’s gaze, gentle yet scrutinizing, enveloping him like a lover’s caress. Christian’s deep, coal-coloured eyes seemed to penetrate to the core of the god’s being, leaving no detail unnoticed; every inch of Corey, clothed or not, was meticulouslyexamined.

Though starting with the face, Christian’s eyes soon moved down over Corey’s thick neck, across his broad shoulders to explore his muscular chest, studying the large pecs and erect nipples pushing through the shirt’s taut fabric. He was making love to the god with nothing more than a penetrating stare.

Aroused, Corey’s left hand travelled slowly down his body, moving toward his groin, making it obvious enough to the mortal to catch his notice.

When his hand was on his junk, he gripped down hard on his jeans-covered package and, employing his consummate control over his body, forced the enchanted blood into his cock, stiffening it. As he did so, he psychically projected the sexual titillation he felt himself into Christian’s mind.

But not just his.

Wickedly, Corey projected the same erotic sensations into the minds of the two men sitting closest to their table, as well as their server from earlier. All three men’s pricks went instantly hard, and as beads of sweat formed on their brows, looks of surprise and puzzlement formed on each of their faces.

The two male patrons chuckled as they awkwardly adjusted themselves and patted their foreheads with a napkin, neither aware of the other’s identical circumstances.

With Christian oblivious to these mischievous machinations, too distracted by his current, unexpected euphoric state, Corey caught the server’s eye. He nodded toward his noticeable bulge and gave aknowing wink. The man instantly blanched, put a menu down in front of his bulging crotch, and hurried back behind the bar.

The god rolled his eyes and snickered, amused by his antics. Then, he quickly returned his full attention to Christian. “I’m still waiting.”

“Oh, uh, right,” Christian stammered, shaking off the strange feelings of intense sexual intoxication that came out of nowhere.

“How do I look to you?” the god asked again.

“Well, your skin is flawless,” Christian praised as his breath evened out. He remained wholly oblivious to the previous moment he had shared his date’s attention with strangers.

“I swear, it’s like you’re made of marble. I love mythology, and you remind me of a Greco-Roman statue with the features of a god. There’s a sensual darkness about you that sings to Morpheus, the god of dreams. Yes, that’s it. You’re like a dream ’cause no one as gorgeous and manly as you could be real, not with that chiselled bone structure and perfect Romanesque nose.

“It’s odd, but like, you seem to have a spotlight on you at all times, that both shines and dims. Outside and inside. It’s kinda wild. So I guess you’re always presented in your best light, the best touches of darkness and illumination. That sounds so cheesy and flighty, but fuck it, it’s true.

“Your eyes aren’t exactly brown; they’re more like bright copper with a mesmerizing sparkle. They’re the windows to your soul, and they lure me in. They’re too hypnotic to be natural. But they aren’tcontact lenses because I can’t see any circular edges. It’s fascinating. You’re fucking fascinating!

“Your age eludes me. I swear, you could be twenty-five or thirty-five. It’s weird—but in a cool way! I mean it! It’s not off-putting in the least. You’re a smoking hot daddy, but also, you seem too young to be that. But also not. It’s a unique masculinity, an inexplicable yet compelling sexiness entirely your own.

“Your features express youth, but your expressiveness, that look in your eye, all give something away. Like experience, even wisdom. You’re an old soul, like me, but in the body of a fitness model, not so much like me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, hottie. I came after you, if you recall.”

Christian blushed, remembering.

“Your lips,” the young man continued, “are full but not too plump and definitely kissable. You’re lucky. So many guys I’ve met have no upper lip. It’s a biological epidemic. Yours look so soft and buttery. But here’s that contradiction again: they also look rough at times, in certain lights, and, I guess—manly? Cripes, I sound so stupid. I’m not explaining this well.”

“You’re doing fine,” Corey assured. “You’re using personal insight. These are your words; no one, not even you, can or should fault that. Don’t overthink. Just describe what comes instantly to mind.” The god was enjoying this game. “Keep going.”

“Don’t overthink. Got it. Okay, so please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you might be into tanning. But whether it’s sun, spray or tanning bed, it’s faded significantly. I can see thelighter shade of your skin poking through. It’s pale, almost—white, but without pink hues. Again, it’s hard to describe.

“You look and sound Italian, or at least from somewhere in the Mediterranean. Your English is flawless, so second-generation Italian-Canadian? I may be reaching if I was basing it only on the texture of your hair and eyes, but your faint accent points to that region.

“And maybe it’s the lighting in here, these damn fluorescents, but right now, at this moment—okay, don’t hate me for this, but you kinda look like a vampire. But a hot one, like an Anne Rice character, even a bit like Antonio Banderas inInterview With The Vampire, but with short hair and not so ghostly-looking—or dressed like the Phantom of the Opera. You’re more of a rocker vampire, like Stuart Townsend’s sexy Lestat inThe Queen of the Damned.

“I knew this guy once—Chris. He was a few years older than me and breathtakingly handsome. He rocked your alternative look, always with dyed black hair, though he’d classified himself as emo rather than goth. I haven’t seen him around in years. I think he was a rent boy. Okay, you really need to stop me and say something here. I’m totally rambling.”

“What makes you think I’m goth?” Corey asked, somewhat exasperated, but his tone was subtle enough not to ruffle feathers. He had learned his lesson from earlier not to fly off the handle.

And it was not the goth part that irked him but that, once again, his immortal godhood was relegated to a vampiric fetish. Heunderstood Christian meant well with his comparisons, ones he expected in this day and age of pop culture, but it stung.

If Apollo was here, mortal, he’d want to make you a pile of ash for comparing us to vampires. Talk about triggering someone.

“I mean, come on, isn’t it obvious? Sure, you’re not sporting any make-up, but your hair is jet-black, and I doubt those subtle blue-black highlights are natural, Corey.”

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