Rogue

Description

Rogue – Mychael Black

Hearth & Home 5

Alex Calderon — aka Rogue — has been wanting to get his hands on the bartender Adrian Kramer for nearly half a year. After a gig at Embers, the bar where Adrian works, Rogue decides he’s done waiting.

Adrian Kramer has lusted after the guitarist/tattoo artist Rogue for several months. When he realizes how much their kinks mesh, he knows he’s found the perfect lover — and Dom — he’s always wanted.

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EXCERPT:

Long hair? Check.

Muscles? Check.

Tattoos covering acres of skin the color of molten bronze? Check.

Adrian simply couldn’t look away. The band had been playing here for months, and from the first moment Adrian had laid eyes on the guitarist, he’d been utterly obsessed.

“Dude.”

Fingers snapped in front of his face, and Adrian blinked. “What?”

Marc, his friend and manager, snorted. “Chicks later, work now. We need more Corona from the back.”

“Got it.” Adrian wiped his hands on the bar rag hanging off his belt and tore his gaze from the headbanging god on stage. He didn’t bother to argue about the chick comment. Eventually, he’d explain, but right now, Marc was right: work.

Adrian stepped into the beer cooler and took a second to center his head. Every time Unholy Winter played, it made Adrian want to sink to his knees. He doubted the guitarist even realized he existed, but even that idea made Adrian weak. The slightest hint of disdain turned him into a writhing mess, not that he’d ever admit it. To anyone. Most people reacted to humiliation in a reasonable way, but, no. His dick thought it was ungodly hot. Go figure.

Hefting a case from the stack, he headed back out into the club. He set it down and began putting away the bottles, stealing glances at the stage as he did so.

The guys in front were whipping the audience into a frenzy, and the moshpit had already spread through half the crowd. Adrian loved the music, but he’d never had the desire to dive into the insanity out there. He preferred his bruises come from more pleasant means than someone’s elbow or a headbutt.

The next hour flew by. Only when people started swarming the bar en masse did Adrian realize the band was on a break. The music kicked ass, but he’d managed to zone out and focus for once. Until he turned around to the next customer.

Dark eyes met his, and Adrian forgot how to breathe.

“Water, please.”

Somehow remembering how to be a bartender, Adrian nodded and grabbed a bottled water from the cooler. He handed it over and hoped he wasn’t shaking. Long fingers wrapped around it, and, for a moment, Adrian fantasized about calloused fingers stroking his cock. A low chuckle snapped his attention back to those unreadable eyes.

The guitar god leaned forward just a little and smirked, gaze going from Adrian’s crotch to his face. “You might want to consider different pants in the future.” With that, he left.

Adrian wished to every god imaginable that he could just sink into the fucking floor. It was going to be a very, very long night.