Page 45 of Raising Hell

“Those aren’t real drinks, are they?”

“N-n-no,” he finally gets out, tears forming in his eyes.

“Uh huh,” I mutter with a nod. “I’ve been played, haven’t I?”

“`Fraid so, buddy,” he says, still wiping his eyes. “How about I make you three whiskey sours, one on the house?”

“I’d rather have it in a cup,” I say, and he chokes out another laugh, but nods.

As he walks away, he mutters so low my demon hearing is barely able to pick up what he says. “The hot ones are always so fucking dumb.”

Strange.

Amon’s laughter hasn’t stopped as I return, carrying three glasses. Rory’s attempt to stifle his giggles fails as his blushing skin betrays him. “Aww, Cas, did they not have what you wanted?” Amon asks, gleeful.

“Hold these, please, Rory,” I say sweetly as I hand over the short cups.

The moment he takes them, I grab Amon by the neck and slam him against the wall, catching him off guard. He’s still grinning, his stunning smile wider than I’ve ever seen, and it makes keeping a straight face challenging.

“No luck with the puckering starfish?” he asks, wheezing against my grip.

“What do you think?”

“What about the creamy briefs?” He reaches forward and cups my cock, and I suck in a surprised gasp. “Nope,” hemurmurs, giving me a slow stroke before pulling his hand away. “Not yet, at least.”

“You’re an ass,” I growl, pushing my face closer until our breath mingles in the tiny space between us. The cocky motherfucker just winks at me, then closes the distance and catches my lips in a kiss that makes me forget why I was even upset.

He pinches my lower lip between his teeth, and I groan at the sting, unable to stay mad at him. After I release him, we both shift our attention to Rory, his face a wavering mix of exhaustion and arousal.

It’s a good look on him, honestly.

Ah, who am I kidding? My little red rose is gorgeous no matter what he’s doing.

“Bottoms up, boys,” he says, handing over our cups. I frown again, twisting to glance at my ass, and Rory’s hand lands on my arm, forcing my attention back to him. “It just means to drink.”

His patience is boundless, I swear.

“Obviously, I knew that,” I say, grinning as he rolls his eyes, and the three of us raise our glasses.

Amon is relaxed as he surveys the club, his tall stature giving him a clear view above the head of everyone in this crowded room. He’s the predator, on the hunt for his prey. The very second he finds his target, I recognize it by the subtle narrowing of his eyes and the confident tilt of his chin.

It’s a challenge, even from this far away.

Amon waits patiently, tapping his fingers against the tabletop, as Rory and I finish our drinks. With a smooth smile, Amon takes Rory’s hand. “Ready to dance?”

Rory grimaces, glancing down at his empty cup. “I might need more alcohol. It won’t make me graceful, but I won’t care as much.”

Chuckling, I take his glass and leave it on the table, weaving our fingers as we navigate through the throngs of people. Music here on Earth differs from what’s mainstream in Hell. It’s more upbeat, with less screaming involved… although I heard Rory singing along to a band called Slip Not. They sounded pretty similar to many of our popular musicians.

Poor thing, he doesn’t know how to scream at all, but he tried.

“I refuse to return to the bar,” I say, and Amon’s cheeks lift in a grin. “Just pointing that out since I finally realized whatcreamy briefsmeans.”

They both laugh, Rory’s paired with an apologetic smile. Amon leads us towards our destination, while Rory is clueless that we’re heading anywhere specific. When we get close enough, he spins and smirks down at Rory, gripping his hips.

He’s nervous at first, but Amon guides his movements so they’re swaying in sync. I give him a chance to relax into the beat before I move in behind him, my hands over Amon’s. Rory glances over his shoulder at me, laying his head back on my chest, and flashes a beautiful smile that’s impossible not to kiss.

So, I do.

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