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I grinned back. “I definitely want them in my mouth.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Holt! Holt! Holt!
The arena was already teeming with people when we entered the private box. Now that I knew they weren’t all in costume, it was so much more fun trying to spot all the different species congregating below, chatting together in their seats or gathering by the bar before the matches started.
Werewolves, fae, incubi and succubi, orcs, gargoyles. There was a small group of mothpeople sitting together high up in the bleachers, and I wondered if that meant I’d get to see Kit wrestle tonight.
I spotted another cluster of lampyrs—the true shapeshifters—who seemed to stick together. They were a little creepy with their blank faces, but as I watched them, one shifted into a local weatherman and gestured animatedly like they were on TV presenting the weather, and the rest of them laughed.
My eyes widened. Oh my god, was Kip Stormer on channel nine actually a lampyr, or was that one just imitating him?
Lots of people were wearing Goliaths merch, I realised, spotting a werewolf in a Dullahan Dan T-shirt, and a fae woman in a crop top that said, ‘Spank me, incudaddy, for I have sinned’ on the front with Nunhallowed Pound on the back above an upside down cross.
“Do you sell any other merch besides T-shirts?” I asked Holt with interest as he grabbed two beers from the minifridge.
“Some.” He came over to join me by the window and handed one to me. “The hats for Dan. Fake wings for Crossbody and Kit. Corey has his own line of nipple tassels.”
“You could sell way more than that!” I said enthusiastically, my long-dormant marketing brain coming back to life and churning with ideas. “Masks of the wrestlers’ faces. Cheap versions of the capes some of them wear. Even little figurines, if you can find a good supplier. How about drinks?”
“Drinks?” Holt cocked his head and made a face. “You mean like themed energy drinks? I think Larkin would become unbearable if he had a ready supply of energy drinks in the office.”
I chuckled, pointing down at the bar. “No, I mean like, you could sell signature cocktails for the wrestlers who are performing each night. Maybe just the headliners, so the bartenders aren’t overwhelmed. Like, something pink for Corey with a tasselly thing sticking out of it, some kind of two-for-one deal on weird yellow shots for Frank and Beans…”
Holt was staring at me. “That’s… such a good idea.”
I resisted the urge to preen. “And what about live streams?”
“What do you mean?” Holt asked curiously, his eyes alert.
I pointed at the big screen on the back wall, a feed of the ring displayed even before the matches started. “You already have a camera rolling for the big screen, so why not stream it online? On a secure channel somewhere? You could do pay-per-view. I bet a lot of non-humans in other cities would pay to watch it. And then you might get people coming from out of town to watch in person. If you lock it down tight and only advertise in the right circles, you could make sure it’s safe.”
Holt’s eyes had grown heavy while I talked. Throat bobbing, he rasped, “I am so horny for you right now.”
I blinked, my cheeks going hot as I chuckled self-consciously. “Well, I mean, I used to do proper marketing before I ended up in corporate PR.”
“Mmm.” Holt took my beer bottle back and set both on an end table, then grabbed my hand and dragged me over to the couch. “I want to show you something.”
“Oh.” I chuckled nervously as he pushed me back onto the couch so I was sitting. “Okay.”
“Got it installed in the week.” He strode over to a small control panel on the wall, and pressed a button.
I watched in disbelief as the bottom half of the big windows looking out onto the arena turned dark and opaque. I could still see the bar, most of the ring and about half the bleachers, but if someone was looking in, everything from the chest down of someone sitting on the couch in here—namely me—would be hidden.
I gulped. My dick perked up in interest.
Holt appeared in front of me, sliding his hands up my thighs with a smirk as he knelt between my legs. I gripped the couch cushions, gaze darting between him and the busy room below.
“Keep talking, Taylor,” he rasped as his long fingers swiftly unbuttoned my jeans. “Keep telling me all your ideas that’ll make me more money.”
“Hnngh.” I made a very embarrassing sound when he reached in and gently eased out my cock, stroking it loosely in his fist as it stiffened in a rush. “O-okay. You could—um—”
I inhaled sharply as Holt swooped down and engulfed my cock with a low moan. His tongue smoothed over the underside of my shaft as he sucked his way back up to tease the tip, before sinking down again slowly.
I clamped my lower lip between my teeth, trying not to show the pleasure on my face just in case someone glanced up at the box.
“Y-you could—” I tried again, swallowing audibly as Holt sucked my cock with slow, lingering bobs of his head. “Um, you could… h-hold autograph signings once a month—”
