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But in this moment, I didn’t have to pretend. I could let my guard down and just be myself, if only for one night.
I cupped Arlo’s jaw and dragged a thumb across his lower lip. “These damn lips have been taunting me all night, begging for me to taste them.”
He smiled slyly, a hint of daring in his eyes. “Then what’s stopping you?” The answer was nothing.
I closed the last remaining inches between us, our lips colliding, softly at first—but I didn’t want soft, and I didn’t think he did either. I traced the seam of his mouth with my tongue, and he opened for me on a sigh, and I wasted no time deepening the kiss, drawing him into my arms. He tasted like mint, probably from gum he’d been chewing, but there was an underlying sweetness that was all his own. I wondered if he was sweet all over.
My cock ached in the confines of my jeans, and I pulled back, panting for breath. It would be so easy to lose myself with him. Under the yellow streetlight, he seemed radiant. As I drew a line with my nose along the column of Arlo’s neck, he tilted his head back to give me better access, but it wasn’t enough. Reaching up, I pulled the tie from his hair and tangled my fingers into his locks, tugging his head back firmly. His breath stuttered as I extended my tongue and licked all the way up to his ear, sucking his lobe into my mouth. He had a stud, and the metal clattered against my teeth.
It didn’t seem to matter that we were in a parking lot. Arlo gripped and pulled at my clothes with a growing sense of desperation, and when he couldn’t get enough, he slid his hands up under my shirt, searching. He whimpered in need, and it nearly made me turn feral. Gods, the sounds he made. I couldn’t wait to make this little omega beg.
His shorts were doing a piss poor job of containing his erection, but I was more envious of the stretchy material, because right now, I was in pain with how little room I had to work with. There was another benefit to his elastic shorts… I eased him off the car so I could squeeze my hand down the back of his shorts, only to find he was wearing nothing underneath.
“Ohh, you’re such a tease,” I groaned, kneading his ass. “This whole time, all that’s been between us was this flimsy piece of fabric?”
“Who’s teasing?” he sassed back, grinding against me. Nope, no teasing here; he was more than ready to deliver.
I delved into his crack to find his skin was slippery with slick. I moaned, precum leaking from the tip of my cock. I couldn’t wait to bury myself so deep inside him that he felt me for a week.
“We should—” I was about to invite him back to my hotel room when I heard the sound. It was just a tiny series of clicks, most people wouldn’t even notice, but I was so attuned to it by now that I knew instantly what it was, and it made my blood run cold. “Shit,” I swore, withdrawing my hand from inside his shorts.
Arlo leaned back, his eyes cloudy with lust, lips swollen. “What? What’s wrong?”
I didn’t even have time to apologize for what was about to happen.
“Max Shepherd, care to introduce your friend?” The voice grated on my every nerve. It was Patrick Carson, reporter for this trashy gossip rag, Chatter—he was also my second shadow.
Angling my body to keep Arlo behind me, I said simply, “Nope.” Then I murmured under my breath, “Get in the car.” Arlo nodded quickly.
I was more than familiar with Carson and how persistent he could be. He would never let this go, but did I really expect him to? This scenario was gold for someone like him. He stepped out from the bushes he’d been hiding in with his wide-angle lens. “This is an unsavory part of town, Max. I’m surprised to find you here.” Whether he’d followed me or someone in the bar had called in a tip, it didn’t matter. The damage was done. “Nothing to say for yourself?”
Arlo’s eyes were wide, like startled prey. He turned around, fumbling with his keys in the lock. The reporter, seeing his window of opportunity closing fast, tried to duck around me to get a picture of Arlo. “What about you?” the sleaze asked. “Do you work here? Are you a stripper?”
In his hurry to escape, Arlo dropped his keys on the pavement. “Shit,” he cursed, and as he bent to pick them up, the reporter snagged a picture of his barely concealed ass.
Protectiveness flared inside me. “Hey! A little respect,” I snapped.
Carson shrugged. “Why? He’s a stripper. Want me to put a twenty down his pants first? When I put that ass on the front page, he’ll be famous. He should be the one paying me.”
“I’m not a stripper,” Arlo said, peeking around me. “But even if I were, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s an honest living.”
The reporter scoffed. “You expect me to believe you’re just out for a night on the town wearing an outfit like that? I’ve heard that club has back rooms where the real action takes place. Is Max Shepherd your client? How much is he paying you?”
My pulse was rushing through my ears, and I saw red, my fists bunching at my sides. I could claim it was because my G-rated persona was falling apart before my very eyes, could almost hear my future roles being ripped out from under me, but that was only part of it. This douche was insulting Arlo, making judgments he had no right to make. “Fuck off, Carson. Leave him alone. He’s my… fiancé.”
There was a pause where nobody said a word as we all just absorbed what I’d blurted out, none of us entirely able to believe it. Maybe because it wasn’t true, but I wasn’t about to back down now, because it was honestly the perfect lie. What better way to save my family-friendly image than by starting a family?
I was the first of us to recover, and I pivoted on one foot and clamped an arm around Arlo’s waist. His mouth was hanging open, but when he looked up at me, I begged him with my eyes to go along with it. I needed this, and so did he. He had no idea how vicious these reporters could be.
I was half expecting him to deny it, to blow my entire story out of the water, but instead, he said only, “I have to go,” before finally managing to get his keys into the lock.
He was leaving! A feeling akin to panic hit me as I struggled to think of a way to get him to stay. “Arlo, I’m so sorry. Please, just—” But I was too late. With impressive speed and grace, he slid into the driver’s seat. He slammed the door, and the engine roared to life. The tires squealed as he tore out of the lot—and out of my life.
As I stared after his taillights, I heard Carson clear his throat. “So… care to tell me his name? Over at Chatter, we pride ourselves on giving our readers the whole truth.”
“None of your business,” I spat, pulling out my phone to call myself a ride.
5
