Page 30 of His Every Move

I finished my drink and set the empty glass on the bar. I walked across the room, the smooth wood floor cold under my bare feet. Maybe because my entire job was to be naked in front of people and get paid for it, I didn’t feel anywhere near self-conscious or weird about walking toward this handsome man with my dick swinging.

The man must have realized I was headed in his direction. He planted his foot on the ground, his thighs thick and juicy. Just how I liked my men.

Yeah, tonight was going to be a great time.

Parties like these were all about fucking around. A buffet of different cocks and asses to feast on. But I doubted I would have been disappointed if my entire night was spent with this guy. He just ticked my boxes, and I couldn’t even see the majority of his head.

Maybe I’d get a face reveal by the end of the night?

A man with long brown hair stepped directly in front of me and went for my leather-masked target. He draped himself on the guy, nuzzling into his neck and saying something that I couldn’t hear over the loud music.

Ahhh, fuck. I wasn’t fast enough.

Damn it.

I made a smooth turn to the right and left the two alone. Whatever. There were plenty of other hot, mask-wearing men I could distract myself with.

I walked down the dimly lit hall into a room with floor-to-ceiling windows that had a spectacular view of Central Park.

It wasn’t the landscape that the people in this room focused on, though.

There were two men on a mattress in the center of the room. They appeared to be putting on a show. One of the men, silver-haired with tribal tattoos crisscrossing his bicep and chest, was thrusting into a moaning blond bottom, his legs hitched up on the silver fox’s shoulders, his toes curled and his hands fisted in the silky black sheets.

I looked over my shoulder, slightly hopeful that the leather-masked man had ditched his desperate-looking suitor and followed me instead.

Nope. No sign of him.

One of the men watching the show paused his strokes and smiled at me. He wore a velvet red mask that looked like it belonged on the set of a TV show about old British royalty.

He was hot, but… I don’t know. He didn’t give me the same spark I felt earlier.

The man in the red velvet mask stepped closer, his body language shifting from relaxed to something morepredatory. His gaze raked over me, sharp beneath the dim golden light from the chandelier, his lips curving into something between a smirk and a sneer.

“You looking for a good time?” His voice was smooth, too smooth, like he was trying too hard to be seductive.

It didn’t work on me. I wasn’t into it.

I offered a polite but guarded smile. “I think I’m just browsing for now.”

Red Velvet didn’t move. Instead, he took another half step forward, closing the space between us, forcing me to tilt my chin up slightly to meet his eyes. I wasn’t small by any means, but this guy had height and muscle on his side.

Unwanted pressure slithered into my chest.

“C’mon,” he murmured. “You came here for a reason, didn’t you?” His fingers brushed my hip, featherlight but unmistakable. His hard cock pressed against my soft one. “And from what I hear… you like to put on a good show.”

A shiver crawled down my spine.

That—that wasn’t something a stranger should know.

I froze, my brain scrambling to rationalize, to tell myself this guy had just heard about me here, that he was making an educated guess. That it didn’t mean he knew who I was.

But my instincts screamed something different.

Nomad?

Was this him? Could he have somehow gotten in?

My pulse spiked, but I kept my face carefully neutral, calculating my next move.

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