Page 80 of King of Pain
Ant islooseduring the ride back. He’s singing along to the songs playing and chatting with the driver. I just gawk at him. Whether fueled by tequila or the freeing environment of a queer club, he’s been completely uninhibited tonight. Walls nowhere to be found. I want that for him every day, fueled only by self-confidence.
Back at the motel, I strip to my boxers and pop into the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I step back out, Ant is already sprawled across the bed, face down, his perky ass on full display in baby blue boxer briefs.
Icannotsurvive this sleeping arrangement.
I kneel on the bed, shifting him under the covers before turning off the lights and crawling in beside him. I settle flat on my back and stare at the ceiling, willing myself to sleep.
Not a minute later, he shifts.
He rolls onto his back, reaches out, grabs my wrist, and pulls me onto my side. Then he rolls back onto his side, tucking my arm against his chest, our bodies flush against each other.
There, in the darkness of the motel room, in the softest whisper, I barely hear him say it—
“Mine.”
And it’s in that moment, I know—my heart will never belong to anyone else.
TRACK THIRTY•THREE
Cherish
Anthony
The first thing I become aware of is warmth.
The second thing is that it’shiswarmth.
Chance’s arm is draped over my waist, his breath slow and steady against the back of my neck. His body is pressed firmly against mine, solid and unyielding. For a few minutes, I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. I justexist, wrapped in his heat, his scent, him.
My mind replays the night before, the tequila-fueled confidence that had me dragging him onto the dance floor. The way our bodies moved together like we had done it a thousand times before. I can’t believe I was that bold, can’t believe I let myself get so lost in it. Was it just the alcohol? Or was it the culmination of a slow, inevitable process of opening up? Not just to Chance, but to myself as well.
As my thoughts spiral, I become painfully aware of theotherproblem at hand.
Morning wood.
Shit.
My face burns as I realize the precarious position I’m in. I need to get out of bed without waking him or, worse, having his hand accidentally brush over it.
Fuck.
Without breathing, I carefully lift his hand off my waist, setting it gently down on the mattress. Then, with the stealth of a damn ninja, I slide out from under the covers.
I adjust myself in my boxer briefs quickly, facing the mirror across the room to make sure I’m not walking around like a fucking flagpole, and sneak into the bathroom.
I close the door and exhale deeply. I need a shower—a real one.Rinsing off with damp paper towels in a club bathroom doesn’t exactly count, especially after coming in my pants like a desperate teenager.
Jesus Christ. Who the hell took over my body last night?
I strip off my briefs and turn the shower knob to hot, waiting for the water to heat before stepping inside. Letting the water scald my skin, I begin washing away the remnants of the night. But it doesn’t wash awayhim. He’s in my thoughts, in my skin, in the way my body remembers his touch, his breath against my ear, his hands gripping me.
I press my forehead against the tile and take deep, steady breaths.Get it together, Pacini.
Once I feel sufficiently composed, I shut off the water and grab a towel, running it over my skin until I’m mostly dry. I wrap the towel securely around my waist before stepping out of the bathroom and come to an abrupt stop, barely avoiding a head-on collision.
Chance is standing there, holding two cups of coffee.
His eyes drag down my body, slow and heated, lingering on the droplets of water trailing down my chest. A blush crawls up my neck, but this time, Iwelcomehis eyes on me.
