Page 15 of Full Service

I was doomed from the beginning. I should just lie down and accept my fate.

The crowd cheers, and a woman tries to crawl onto the stage, immediately being pulled back by a large bouncer with a head bigger than my torso. She’s behaving how I feel deep down—a clawing, feral thing.

But then again, Everly knows how to work a crowd. His co-worker up on stage isn’t half bad either. They put on a good show together, and yet I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

From the way his muscles shine under the lights, the way they bunch and move, the cocky smile he wears on his face as he undulates his hips.

Fuck me. What kind of word is undulate? I need to get a grip. I should walk out of here immediately because this is completely inappropriate. I shouldn’t be here watching my TA strip off his clothes and stick his ass out to the world.

And yet, here I am.

With a leaking boner.

The ground must be extra sticky from bodily fluids and alcohol because I cannot get my feet to move. I might have to spend the night here, propped up against the wall, pretending to blend into it. I could probably manage it too. I’m wearing a dark button-up shirt and black slacks. If I don’t move and I close my eyes maybe no one will be able to see me. I’ll become one with the wall. Just a bodyless face.

I glance back up at the stage and my eyes connect with Everly’s.

My breath catches, and I feel my skin break out in goosebumps.

Oh shit. I’ve been caught.

He’s seen me.

Maybe I can slink away and deny this until the day I die. But the way he’s watching me, there’s no point in even attempting this. His gaze is locked with mine. The way he’s moving his body, his hands on his chest and then clutching his groin.

Every move feels like it’s for me.

I know it is.

I can see the way he bites his lip, how he wets his mouth. And when he pulls his pants off and flaunts his ass to the crowd, I know that he’s showing me what I’ve been missing. His head keeps tilting back over his shoulder, glancing in my direction. And I keep staring at him, unable to breathe.

He likes that I’m watching, that I’m debating what I could do to that body of his if I had fewer scruples.

But then again, scruples?

Seems I don’t have any.

Don’t even really know the word.

It’s not in my dictionary.

And if I look but don’t touch, that doesn’t count, right?

That’s how I got myself to come here tonight. It’s just a show, simple entertainment on a Saturday night. Nothing more. It’s not like I’m going to let him touch me, let him get me off again. Not that he needed to touch me to do that.

I reach down and squeeze my dick. It positively throbs, an ache that goes straight down my legs and makes them shake. I’m close and he’s done nothing but writhe on stage.

Imagine if he was naked on top of me…

I’d embarrass myself. I’d put the gays to shame with how fast I’d come.

Shitty Stamina Silas Sinclair.

I should get a jersey with that name on it. Wear it on my nights out so everyone knows to stay away.

I’ll make it red too.

Red flag!