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Tonight, I’m going to get drunk, and pray to the gods a handful of orgasms and riding a cock will quiet the unsettled feeling I can’t seem to shake.
A soft-bodied centaur presses a cup of swirling silver liquid into my hand as I walk onto the porch. He looks me up and down, amber eyes lingering on my top surgery scars, clearly visible with the short-sleeve shirt I have hanging unbuttoned, and on my bulge against the placket of a ripped pair of jeans. I see him note the forest green bandana tucked into my back right pocket, and his smile turns fond, but apologetic.
“I’m not your type,” he says, his voice melodic as he leans into my space. “But there’s a few polar bear shifters on the dance floor who might be what you’re looking for.” He waggles his heavy blonde brows. “I took one for a ride last night—he’ll leave you happy and begging for more.”
I grin back, shifting my weight and stifling a little sigh at the pressure on my cock. Thanking the centaur, I weave my way through the crowd. The air turns musky as bodies press in around me, and I shudder, my body already waking up at the thought of what might come next.
It’s impossible to miss the polar bear shifters. Huge, both in height and stature, with thick white hair across their chests and stomachs. One wears a leather harness across his chest and leather shorts that leave nothing to the imagination, while the other, with his white hair shaved close to his head, has thick piercings through his nose, lip, and nipples.
Yes, please. I move toward him, draining the entire contents of the drink I’m still holding. I lick my lips, wincing at the almost sickly-sweet honey taste, before setting the cup down on the porch railing behind me.
The shifter smiles at me, and his eyes mirror the same movements as the centaur. His smile widens, turning hungry, and fuck I’m turned on. I’m hard and needy, and I’m pretty sure if he slid one of his wide thighs between my legs I could come in a matter of seconds.
A big hand reaches out and snags my waist. I go eagerly, putty in his hands as he spins me around and tucks my ass back against him. He’s hard and thick, and I wiggle from side to side to slot his length between my cheeks.
“Hello, boy,” he whispers, his voice hot against my ear. “Looking for a Daddy tonight?”
I shiver. It’s not quite right. None of it ever is. But if I close my eyes and sink into the feeling of a soft belly against my back, the soft catch of body hair on my skin, the firm hold of a hand on my hip, the thumb slipping into the waistband of my briefs—I can pretend.
Just for tonight, I can pretend the man I tell myself I hate, the man who has stumbled back into my life and turned my head inside out, that he is the one touching me. That the phrase “Good boy,” is slipping from his soft lips, that it’s a salt and pepper beard tickling the side of my neck.
My head is hazy, and I can finally breathe. I dance, sweat on my skin, and do nothing but feel.
When the shifter turns me to face him and kisses me, I try to let go, even as something inside of me stays clenched, tight and tethered to some unknown harbor.
One more drink, and then, maybe, I’ll be free.
Chapter 6
Good Boy
Javier
I have never been someone who glorifies staying up late. On the contrary, I have always appreciated long, uninterrupted hours of sleep. My abuela still tells stories of me sleeping on the floor while all of the tias danced to Ana Gabriel around me.
The last place I want to be is out of my bed, but here I am, hours after dark, stalking through the lamplit village to get the man I walked away from.
So much for holding boundaries.
Watching Aleks swim, watching self-sabotage overtake everything he has worked for, is leaving me with a sense of helplessness I hate. He is better than how he is dancing right now. I kept adjusting my wording, hoping if I changed the delivery of feedback it might actually sink in. But nothing was working.
Walking away from him today was the right thing to do. I stand by that. But I cannot help but wonder if I am somehow to blame for him running off to a party, and, if Zephyr’s text is in any way accurate, throwing himself at a polar bear shifter.
It is normal for athletes to cut loose before and after they compete. An occasional night out has very little impact on athletic performance. If this were any other athlete, I would have ignored Zephyr’s text and gone to bed.
But my friend knows Aleks is not like any other athlete. The merman may be an interfering asshole, but he is also the only one here who knows exactly who the siren is to me.
Aleks is a consenting adult who is not mine to worry about, I remind myself as I approach the growing noise of the party. Dios, but that would be a lie. What I should do and what I want to do could not be more contradictory.
It only takes me a minute to find Zephyr, sitting with his elbows propped on the bank of the waterway passing below the patio. The music is loud enough to be annoying, and I already feel a headache coming on. He is not alone—Martyn and Holdys, two other mermen I know from the Mazarine Coast, float beside him, steins of some silver liquid gripped in their fists.
I give them a nod before turning my attention to my friend. “Where is he?” I ask Zephyr.
He looks amused, but has the decency not to run his mouth. Asshole has always been able to read my mood from a pool away. He points up over his shoulder. “There.”
I follow his finger and…there.
There he is. Under the golden string lights, everything looks like a scene from a movie, or maybe a well-funded stage production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I take in the scene—Aleks’ body pressed against a large, white-haired man, their mouths moving together like they have been at it a while. I trail my gaze down to where Aleks’ hips roll against the thigh slotted between his legs.
