Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Nero’s gaze shone like two old coins. “Done. And if I win, I get a long, delicious blowjob,” he said and grabbed himself through the sweatpants.
Heat scorched Miguel’s cheeks when it became clear the bastard wore no underwear.
“This is making me thirsty,” the mustachioed man spoke.
Nero glanced Miguel’s way. “You heard what Juan said. How about you bring us another round?”
Miguel hesitated, glancing at the sea of people between him and the bar. “Are you sure it’s safe for me to just leave you here?”
Nero grinned and leaned closer so his warm breath teased Miguel’s ear. “What could possibly happen? Chop-chop, Miguel. I need you back for the Mr. Wet T-shirt contest, because you are taking part.”
Miguel glared at him, but still took a discreet whiff of Nero’s cologne. “Wouldn’t you rather win it?” A bit of flattery to save himself the embarrassment.
“Nah, this will be more of a dog show. Make me proud.”
Miguel clenched his teeth. If he wasn't getting what he wanted, the least he could do was hit back with spiteful comments. "Fine. Does any drink hurt your sensitive teeth?"
Nero snarled. “If it does, I’ll just get something warm and sticky to wash my mouth with.”
Miguel considered a rebuff, but it wasn’t worth the hassle, so he left with the image of several loads of spunk all over Nero’s mouth embedded in his brain. The way this man was greedy for it, how he never failed to make it known how much he liked cock, stirred something buried deep in Miguel. Something he didn’t want to explore.
Fortunately, his somber demeanor and the skulls tattooed above his eyebrow made the sea of drunk, horny men part, and he didn’t have a hard time getting to the bar. Waiting for his turn to order was another matter.
“Oh my god, look at you!” said a cigarette-burned voice behind him, but Miguel didn’t bother looking back, and focused on drawing the bartender’s attention as sweaty bodies pushed at him, wiggling in the rhythm of the electronic music blaring from the speakers.
In a different world, one in which he didn’t have to be on his guard at all times, where he hadn’t paved his way to Raul Moreno with cobblestones made out of death, would he have flirted back? Would he have enjoyed an evening of a stranger’s touch? He never considered such things before leaving his mother’s side, but those fantasies held no meaning if he didn’t intend to follow through.
“Eight shots of whatever, just make them colorful,” he said to the bartender over the loud music. He much preferred quiet run-down bars where one could sit in a corner with their glass of rum. But this was the meat market, and everything here was about people being able to present themselves to prospective buyers.
“I love a tattooed bad boy,” the same voice said, buzzing in Miguel’s ear like a mosquito. This time, a hand stroked his bicep in a bid for attention.
While he didn’t like being touched, he wasn’t about to murder someone for it in a public place, especially not with so many people watching. At least that was what he told himself, because another part of him said it wouldn’t hurt to look or entertain a few words with a man he’d never see again anyway.
The stranger was a bit younger than him and sported a shock blond haircut that contrasted with his dusky skin. The bright blue shade of his eyes was likely artificial, but his toned arms? Those were real.
“I’m hardly a boy.”
The guy grinned and poked Miguel’s hip with his. “Form of speech. You look dangerous. Are you?” he asked in a tone that suggested he would like either answer.
Miguel itched for a cigarette, to have something to do with his hands, but he pulled out his wallet instead, and paid for the drinks. He used to have a friend who would flirt with anything that moved and knew what the guy would have said in response to the flirtatious question. ‘Only one way to find out’, or ‘Only if you want me to’.
But that wasn’t Miguel. He didn’t want the follow-up.
“I’m too dangerous for you.”
The man smiled, and his pink tongue darted to lick his lips, as if he were a lizard. “Or maybe it’s the other way around? What’s your name, stranger?” he asked, turning to lean against the bar and face Miguel.
Miguel’s tongue felt like a piece of dry wood. He always rebuffed Nero’s shameless comments because they only existed to annoy and humiliate him. But this was different. This guy was interested in him, so why was his initial reaction so negative?
A strange thought wormed itself into the back of his mind. What if he was shy? He had no romantic experience to speak of. Putting women off had never been a struggle, even though many seemed to find him handsome, and before coming into Nero’s vicinity, it wasn’t as if men hit on him unless they had a death wish. But in a gay club, he was fair game.