Page 78 of King of Pain
Ant nods, fiddling with his napkin. “Yeah. I’d like to do it tonight, so I don’t overthink it and chicken out. I’ve never been.”
A devious smile creeps across my lips. “Well, alright then, gay club virgin. Let’s go pop your cherry.”
STRUT is alive with color and energy. The music pulses through the space, the dance floor a vibrant sea of people moving freely, unapologetically themselves.
At the bar, Ant orders us tequila shots, slamming the first one and immediately ordering another. Then another.
I keep up, but I watch him carefully, making sure he’s not drinking out of nerves alone. His excitement reassures me, though.
We weave through the thrumming crowd, drinks in hand, until we find a small, round cocktail table near the edge of the dance floor. The air is thick with heat, liquor, and the unmistakable scent of sexual freedom. This is a place where people come to let go, to exist as their true selves without fear or judgment.
I take a long sip of my drink and watch as Ant soaks it all in. His wide hazel eyes flit across the club, taking in every radiant, unapologetic person around him. A couple locked in a slow, erotic grind, their foreheads pressed together. A group of men in harnesses and mesh shirts laughing and clinking shots. A glamorous twink in a sequined jumpsuit twirling on the dance floor like the world is theirs to command.
There’senchantmentin Ant’s expression as he watches, a quiet kind of awe that moves me. He’sseeingthis for the firsttime. People completely unguarded, fully themselves,freein a way he’s never let himself be.
“You good?” I ask, nudging his arm with my elbow. He nods slowly, his lips parting slightly before he closes them again.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “This is… this is really something.” His eyes are still wide with awe, drinking in the vibrant energy of the club.
Before I can prod him to expand on his thoughts, a tall, stunning drag queen in a form-fitting emerald gown strides up to our table and gasps dramatically, literally clutching her pearls. “My, my, my,” she purrs, eyes landing on Ant. “Aren’t you a beautiful one?”
I grin, peering over at Ant. “Right? See, Beautiful? Everyone knows it.”
Ant ducks his head, but the pink creeping up his cheeks can’t escape the club lights. Before he can retort, the queen turns her attention to me, her long lashes fluttering as she scans me up and down.
“And you,” she says, placing a manicured hand on my arm and giving it an appreciative stroke, “you say that as if you’re not a walking smoke show dripping in ink and sex yourself.”
I’m about to thank her for the compliment when there’s a sharp thud as Ant’s drink hits the table with more force than necessary. My eyes flick to his face, where I catch the way his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, and… is he baring his teeth? Holy shit. What is happening?
The queen smirks, catching the same thing I did. “Well, well,” she drawls, her lips curling mischievously. “Welcome to the club, boys. Name’s Anita. Anita Dicking.”
I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “Of course it is.”
Anita winks. “So,” she continues, placing a hand on her hip, “you boys together?”
I open my mouth, but before I can get a single syllable out, Ant cuts in.
“Yes,” he says firmly. “And we’re having quality time.”
I blink. My brain screeches to a halt.
Anita lets out an amused cackle, her gaze flitting between us. “Ooh, you got a sassy one, huh?” she asks, leveling her eyes on me.
I shake off my shock and smirk. “Not usually, but I think tequila is doing some of the talking tonight.”
“Oh, no, sweetheart,” Anita says, wagging her finger. “This one’s true nature is sassy. He’s just starting to let it out to play.” She gives Ant a wink then turns back to me. “You’ve got your hands full.”
“Oh, I know I do,” I mutter under my breath, watching the way Ant’s chest rises and falls a little faster than before. His fingers grip the edge of the table and there’s a flicker of something wild in his eyes. I barely have time to process any of it before Anita gives us a little wave. “Have fun tonight, boys.”
Then, just as I turn toward Ant, intending to ask what that was all about, the opening synth of “Into the Groove” blasts through the speakers.
Ant’s entire face lights up like a damn Christmas tree. He jumps up and down like an excited kid, then grabs my wrist, eyes burning with exhilaration. “Oh my God,” he exclaims, his grip tightening. “I’ve always wanted to dance to this song in a club! I’ve never heard it at the straight bars!”
Before I can protest, or recover from the way he just claimed me in front of Anita Dicking, Ant is dragging me onto the dance floor.
I groan as I’m reminded how well this man can dance. He moves like he was born for it—hips rolling, body fluid, in perfect sync with the music. My eyes are devouring him. Other guys arewatching too; their own eyes filled with hunger. A fire rises in me—protective and possessive.
Stay the fuck back. Let him have this moment.
