Page 49 of His Secret Santa
Holden slowly opened the VIP room door, his guts a writhing bundle of nerves. In the back of his mind, a small voice insisted he was wrong about the stripper—he had to be—that the idea of him and Lincoln being the same was just too… surreal. He had to have misread the signs and evidence somewhere along the line.
As he quietly closed the door behind him, Holden seriously considered he may be wrong… and couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. If the stripper was Lincoln, then that meant Lincoln was, indeed, gay and very into him… but it would also mean Lincoln definitely wasn’t ready to be out and would therefore continue to ignore or even be mean to Holden outside the club.
If the stripper wasn’t Lincoln… then nothing with the quarterback had changed. He wasn’t gay. He had no interest in Holden. His indifference wasn’t an act to hide his true feelings.
Rationally, Holden knew he should hope for the second option. But his heart stubbornly clung to the first, despite all the drama and hurt that came with it.
He stood at the door, hands behind him, grasping the knob, as he stared at the stripper’s back. The young man scrolled on his phone. He wore the same costume as before, along with the red leather mask. Had the mask simply been for effect… or to hide his identity?
If it was Lincoln standing before him now, then he knew the answer.
Holden didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak. His throat had closed so tightly he could hardly breathe, much less squeeze out a syllable. His gaze roamed helplessly down the stripper’s back and came to rest on his ass, barely contained in the tight, shimmering red shorts. These were new. Last time, he’d worn skin-tight red leather pants that laced up the back of his legs.
A tremor rippled through Holden as the memory of that night flooded over him, submerging him in erotic sensations. Had it really been Lincoln’s mouth on him, sucking him with such desire and enthusiasm? Lincoln’s body beneath Holden’s touch? He remembered too vividly how the man’s ass had felt in his hands as he rode Holden’s lap. And his kisses and caresses and whispers.
It isn’t Lincoln, Holden thought with a sudden lump in his tight throat. His eyes stung. Lincoln would never want me that much… even if he was gay. It’s just a random stripper who took a liking to you… nothing more.
The stripper stopped scrolling and went still, abruptly aware of Holden’s presence. He didn’t turn around. Holden was glad and he took the moment to blink back the tears blurring his vision. He should be thankful it wasn’t Lincoln. Too many questions and uncertainties were attached to the situation otherwise.
Is that what you want—for things to be simple and uncomplicated? No questions or mystery?
It should be an easy yes. But Holden stumbled over the answer. He’d gone four years believing it would take a solid gold miracle for Lincoln to ever notice him—or become interested in him. What if this was that miracle… as messy and convoluted as it was?
It isn’t. Just get this over with and get out of here.
Holden’s throat worked as he wrestled with his words. “I-I’m here,” he whispered, the words forcing out with a gravelly texture.
The stripper took a slow, deep breather and exhaled softly. “Make yourself comfortable,” he murmured. Holden strained to detect a familiarity in his voice, but he spoke too low to know if it was there.
Holden walked over to a large plush chair with a wide back and no arms. He sat on the edge of the cushion, unable to relax. The stripper docked his phone in a speaker and turned on some music, then he faced Holden.
“You got my card?” he whispered.
Holden nodded, avoiding his eyes. Now that he was face-to-face with the guy, he was terrified of discovering the truth.
“I’m glad you came back. I wasn’t sure if you would.” He walked a little closer. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you for the last two years.” Something caught in his voice, barely detectable, when he added, “I’ve… missed you.”
Holden lowered his eyes to the floor. The carpet blurred. “I… I’ve been thinking of you, too,” he admitted thickly. Don’t be Lincoln. I can’t handle this. Just let everything go back to the way it was.
“That’s good to know,” the stripper said quietly, sincerely. He neared Holden and stood before him and gently slid his fingers through Holden’s hair, tilting his face up. Holden sat eye-level with the stripper’s firm crotch, but his eyes turned upward as the young man stroked his cheeks with tender fingertips. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this,” he whispered, “but what happened between us before… it felt like… more.”
More than sex play is what he meant. Holden’s focus slid down to the stripper’s chest… and the tattoo. The same tattoo you saw on Lincoln. Even now, staring at the ink, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the undeniable evidence. This person before him, caressing his face, speaking to his heart… didn’t feel like Lincoln Pratt. The only words Lincoln had ever spoken to him were delivered with a brittle coating. How was he supposed to believe that this man was…
His eyes raised again to the stripper’s face and this time settled on his mouth, and more directly on the small cut on his lower lip. Where Jamie punched him. Just one more piece of evidence. And still, he struggled to grasp this reality.
Holden’s chin trembled. “It felt like more… to me, too.”
The stripper swallowed and leaned down, brushing his lips across Holden’s mouth. Holden knew he should pull away, shove the guy back, and call him out. But he just sat there, craving and savoring the kiss as it deepened with a passion he’d only known in his dreams and fantasies.
Slowly drawing back, the stripper panted softly against his lips as his body began to catch the rhythm of the music. He slid onto Holden’s lap and sensually rocked his hips, slowly gyrating his ass on Holden’s hardening crotch as he kissed him again with such hunger and want.
Holden whimpered and grabbed his waist, incapable of believing this was the quarterback. His mind wasn’t equipped to bridge that gap between reality and fantasy—even when it dropped right in his lap.
Warm shivers cascaded through Holden when the stripper kissed his throat and began undressing him, peeling away his shirt. Then his mouth was on Holden’s chest… nibbling and sucking his nipples.
“Uh…” Holden choked on a gasp. His member turned to steel beneath the stripper’s gyrating ass. He clutched the legs bands of the man’s tight shorts, drawing them deeper between his cheeks as he pulled the stripper harder against him.
The stripper buried his face in Holden’s neck, biting and sucking his tender throat. “I want you so bad,” he moaned shakily.