Going All In

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have children someday. He just didn’t want to have them with Stephanie. Their families had been longtime friends, often vacationing together when he’d been younger, and he’d thought she’d understood his predicament. Thought she’d understood that he’d dated her to shut their parents up. He’d always gotten along well with her and considered her a good friend.

Now? After the scheme she’d pulled, he wasn’t sure what she was.

Charlie bumped his shoulder. “Snap out of it, man. Leave that shit in New York. This is Vegas. Sin City. Red Hot Chili Peppers. No one’s here to tell you what to do or what not to do. For two nights and two days, you’re free, man. So let it all hang out!”

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Ashton snort. Still, the idea had merit. Not the letting it all hang out part. That would get him arrested, but the being free part. How long had it been since he’d gotten laid?

Although his parents knew he was gay, they persisted in pressuring him to date women… for the tabloids, of course. They claimed that the media learning he was gay would ruin the family business, Montgomery Aromas. He wasn’t sure he believed them, but the last thing he wanted to do was endanger the company. Too many of his relatives depended on it.

He followed Charlie through the crowd. The tickets they’d purchased from a scalper had cost a fortune, but were well worth it. They were in a standing-only section right in front of the stage. About fifteen feet in front of them, he spotted a man and a woman whose party had clearly already started.

The man couldn’t be more than five eight or five nine, but he was deliciously packaged. His blond hair, swept to the side, reflected the stage lights and drew Ashton to his big brown eyes, artfully made up with liner and mascara. His form-fitting black T-shirt revealed a slim body, but defined biceps peeked out of his sleeves. Ashton licked his lips as his gaze strayed further south to the firm ass encased in tight red jeans.

If it were ten years ago, even five, Ashton would have readily concluded that the guy was gay. These days, it wasn’t so clear.

Charlie tossed an arm over Ashton’s shoulders. “See something you like?”

Ashton tilted his head toward the younger blond man. Charlie whistled between his teeth. “Get a load of that redhead.”

“No, I meant the blond—”

“I know. Duh. But check out the girl with the curly hair next to him.”

Ashton winced. Damn. “Think they’re together together?”

Charlie clapped Ashton on the back. “Not a chance.”

“Hey, just because a man wears makeup that doesn’t mean he’s gay.”

“Relax, dude. The guy’s shirt makes it plenty clear, even to those of us with broken gaydar,” Charlie said with a smirk.

“What about his shirt?”

The redhead moved to speak to a girl beside her, and Ashton got a clear view of the front of the man’s T-shirt. As he read it, his smile grew. I’m like 104% gay.

Now there was a man with confidence to spare. Ashton was rich, had a good education, a great job as director of research for the New Scents labs. He was just shy of six feet and weighed one-eighty. Yet, the blond had way bigger balls than Ashton. Not that he was in the closet, well, not exactly, but there was no way he’d have the guts to announce his sexuality so visibly or blatantly.

Just then, the lights went out and a single spotlight illuminated the center of the stage. Music started, a deep thumping bass that stirred Ashton’s blood. When Flea, the bassist of the band, walked out, Ashton’s gaze returned to the blond, who wore a look of such ecstasy that Ashton’s cock decided to join in the fun.

There was something about the guy’s total abandon that really did it for Ashton.

During the band’s opening number, Ashton had to keep dragging his gaze away from the man. The show onstage was good, but it was the show taking place a few feet ahead of him that commanded his attention.

The blond danced to the music, his arms in the air, his hips swiveling enticingly. Ashton thanked God he’d listened to Charlie and had worn jeans. Dress pants didn’t do much to trap an erection.

The band segued into their second song. Charlie shouted in his ear. “Let’s move up.”

Assuming Charlie wanted to get closer to the stage, he followed, only to realize that Charlie had wanted to get closer to the redhead. Not that he minded. The move put him within arm’s reach of the blond.

So close, in fact, that Ashton could make out the smell of his cologne, a scent he’d recognize anywhere, because he was the one who’d created it. Although he had to admit Risqué had never smelled so damn sexy.

Charlie whispered something to the redhead. She smiled and took his beer.

A hand closed around Ashton’s. He jerked his gaze back and found himself sinking into brown eyes, the exact shade of creamy, milk chocolate.

“Hello, handsome,” the blond said.

Normally a pretty smooth talker, Ashton found himself tongue-tied. Since he couldn’t form a single thought, much less a word, he presented his untouched beer.

The guy’s eyes widened, drawing attention to the beads of sweat decorating his forehead. “Oh God. You’re a life saver.” He took the cup and downed half. “Oh, shit.” He wiped his mouth with a sheepish look on his face. “I didn’t mean to drink so much of it. I’m just so hot.”

Something about his genuine embarrassment put Ashton at ease. No one knew him here. He could be himself. 104% himself, like the guy’s T-shirt said. He quirked his lips and said exactly what was on his mind. “Yes, you are. Damn hot.”

A blush stole over the blond’s cheeks, making him even more flushed. He really was too cute.

Cutting the guy some slack, Ashton held out his hand. “I’m Ashton.” He had to lean in close and shout, giving him another chance to fill his lungs with that incredible scent.

“Harry. Aren’t they great?” Harry asked, facing the band again.

Honestly, Ashton was barely aware of the Red Hot Chili Peppers onstage, or of the people screaming and dancing around him. All his awareness was focused on one person, one person whose name he now knew. Harry.

He answered something meaningless that was lost in the thunderous applause marking the beginning of a new song.

“Oh, I love this one,” Harry said, starting to dance again. Ashton’s chest felt like it was going to explode. He could barely catch his breath. Why was it so hot in here? Everything Harry did had Ashton thinking of sex. What would Harry look like naked? How would he move in bed? All questions that demanded answers. Sooner rather than later.

Taking a large gulp of beer, he tried to cool his thoughts. But Harry had other ideas. He danced around Ashton, bumping and grinding, driving Ashton crazy with the need to touch him. Finally, Harry stopped in front of Ashton and interlaced their legs. Placing his hands on Ashton’s hips, he coaxed, “Come on, gorgeous. Move with me.”

Ashton wanted to move with Harry all right. Against a wall, on the floor, leaning over a couch. Jesus. He wiped his forehead and had another sip of beer.

Whether it was the heat, the loud music, the crushing crowd, or Harry himself, Ashton started to relax. He allowed Harry’s hands to direct his movements, and soon, they were swaying together, like two figure skaters. Okay, not quite. But he was trying.

Harry looked up, his eyes hot and lust-filled. Ashton could no longer control himself. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to Harry’s, savoring his first taste of man in months. And not just any man. No, a beautiful, bold Adonis. A man Ashton wanted to taste a lot more of.

Angling his head, Ashton played his tongue over the seam of Harry’s lips. Cautiously, at first, drinking in the other man’s sexy little moans. When Harry’s lips parted, Ashton swept his tongue inside, exploring that sinful mouth. Their tongues wrapped around each other, twirling and swirling until Ashton was dizzy.

His hands slid down to grasp Harry’s ass, and that’s when he realized he was still holding the damn cup of beer. Harry chuckled, took it from him, had another big gulp, then raised it to Ashton’s lips. Once the cup was empty, Harry let it fall.

Ashton wasted no time in finding Harry’s ass again, while Harry’s hands dug under his T-shirt and rubbed along his spine, up and down in a hypnotizing rhythm. Their mouths crashed together, one tongue seeking out the other.

Jesus Christ. Ashton couldn’t remember a time when another person’s touch had been so arousing, so freeing. He felt high, like he could just will it, and they’d float up into the air.

Harry wrapped himself around Ashton, his legs around his waist, arms around his shoulders, kissing and sucking at his neck. Ashton increased the pressure of his thrusts and Harry moaned beautifully.

Was this a dream? Was he actually having stranger sex—albeit fully clothed—in a concert venue packed with people?

He hoped to Christ there were no paparazzi around. This town promised that whatever happened here stayed here, and it had damn well better. If word got out, his parents would never forgive him.