Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
It hadn’t happened yet, but it could.
The possibility of discovery always hovered, dampening the experience. It was hard to fully let go when he had to keep one eye on alert.
“Hey there,” a giant bouncer said as he approached. The guy gave him a suggestive once-over that screamed of sex, but he wasn’t Tate’s type. At six-foot-two with a fairly solid build, Tate preferred men smaller and slimmer than he was. This mountain of a man didn’t do much for him. “Ten dollar cover waived if you give me your ass after my shift.”
Fuck no.
Never going to happen. He did not bottom. Ever. But knowing someone wanted him never failed to boost his ego. “Sorry, man, not my thing.” Tate wasn’t one to beat around the bush or play coy. He didn’t have time for that shit. He needed to get in, get off, and get out before he made too much of an impression. Anonymity was the name of the game.
The bouncer pouted and held out his hand. “Cover’s fifteen.”
Snorting, Tate raised an eyebrow. What a fucking hustler.
“Inflation sucks,” the bouncer said with a shrug.
“Fine.” Instead of telling this guy where he could shove the extra five bucks, he fished two bills out of his wallet and slapped them in the bouncer’s palm.
Just went to show how badly he needed another man’s hand on his cock.
After accepting the stamp, which the bouncer dug into his skin like he was trying to brand him, Tate wandered into the club. His heart rate immediately thumped in time with the EDM pulsing through the building.
Clubs weren’t his typical scene. Most weekend nights, he could be found sitting in a lawn chair, drinking beer with his friends and Randy around a shitty bonfire in the center of the trailer park, or drag racing behind the abandoned factory on the outside of town. Sometimes, they hit up a sports bar, but dance clubs?
Fuck no.
But he did what he had to do when the loneliness crept in, and his mask felt too heavy to wear another day.
Christ, he sounded like a damn sad sack.
After grabbing a beer from the bar, he took his usual spot propped against a wall to search for his conquest. When he found him, Tate would dance. One dance. No more. He couldn’t dance to save his life, but he could grind against a hot ass for a few moments before taking them out back for a quick suck or fuck.
Bodies moved all around, flowing with the heavy beat. Most were men, but a few women were sprinkled throughout the mix. The thing that stuck with Tate the most every time he went there was the variety of people.
Big and small.
Old and young.
Black and white.
Flashy and subdued.
They represented all walks of life with one main commonality.
They were all queer.
And no one blinked an eye. Hell, it was fucking celebrated with the cheesy rainbow streamers and blowjob shots given out like water. Inside these four walls represented a world in which Tate belonged.
But he also belonged where he came from, and the two universes did not mix. Maybe someday someone would be brave enough to bridge the gap, but Tate couldn’t be that man. He’d seen firsthand what happened to people like him in Swan, and he knew to the very depths of his soul he’d lose every single person in his life if he came out.
Was it wrong?
Fuck yes.
But it was his reality.
The song changed, though they all sounded the same to him, and a flash of bright pink caught his eye. He craned his neck to see past a couple making out and groping each other in his line of sight. The taller guy broke off the kiss, whispered something to his partner, then dragged him off the dance floor.
“Be safe, kids,” Tate muttered, lifting his beer in salute.
The second they moved away, the dancer in pink came into view.
Tate’s blood rushed south. He was so hard-up that a glimpse of a sexy man made him chub right up.
“Jesus,” he whispered as he straightened off the wall.
Like all the others, the guy danced to the music, but that’s where the similarities ended. This guy moved on another level entirely. He danced like he was one with the music, flowing, spinning, and twisting in perfect time to the beat. He wore dark jeans and a skin-tight hot pink T-shirt that showcased sleek muscles every time he shifted.
Tate swallowed a painful gulp of beer. His cock filled so fast that he needed to reach for the wall to steady himself. The guy’s eyes were closed, and a blissed-out smile curled his full lips, lips that would look unreal wrapped around Tate’s dick. Sweat ran down the side of his face, tempting Tate’s tongue and teasing his cock. His short, dark hair had been artfully styled in gelled spikes.