Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Too bad Hop had avoided him like a professional bond skipper for the past seven days. Honestly, the guy had some kind of superpower that allowed him to disappear whenever Rafe came close.
The moment Mark sent word that the Boyz had arrived, Rafe headed to the dressing area. He’d never intruded before, but his patience was running out and if he didn’t make the order himself, Hop would never obey.
Just seeing Hop warmed his blood.
Tam was the first to notice him leaning against the doorframe. His eyes widened and he sucked in a gasp that had the rest of the dancers turning. Rafe’s attention was on Hop so he saw the pinned-in-the-headlights surprise that transformed his expression the moment he realized he was caught.
And he wasn’t getting away this time.
Before anyone could speak, Rafe said, “Come to my office after the show tonight, we have things to discuss.”
“What things?” A voice drew Rafe’s attention. It came from the tall blond, Ansel.
“As the Sassy Boyz’ liaison, Hop is the only one who needs to know.”
Ansel’s eyebrows rose. “Liaison?”
Rafe returned his gaze to Hop, where it should be. “After the show.” Or else. He let the threat hang in the air and waited in the silence until Hop gave a tiny, almost imperceptible, nod. Then he spun on his heels and left to a chorus of curses and questions.
Let Hop chew on that for a few hours. By the time he came to Rafe’s office he’d be right on the edge—exactly where Rafe wanted him.
* * *
After the show. After the show. After the show.
Those words played on a loop in Hop’s mind with Rafe’s voice, deep and commanding. Hot. Irresistible. Damn him.
He’d thought it was over. After seven days of not seeing Rafe, Hop had believed Rafe had chosen to forget the whole night. Hop’s hands shook as he refreshed his lipstick in the mirror.
It’d been an empty kiss. That’s all.
A mistake caused by adrenaline, nothing else. Nothing deep.
There were a thousand reasons Rafe might have called him to his office that had nothing to do with their nonexistent relationship. Maybe there was an issue with the contract. Maybe he needed a different signature. Maybe a schedule needed to be fixed.
Maybe, oh God, maybe Craig hadn’t kept his mouth shut.
Maybe Roland had found out.
Tam came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder. “You okay?”
Hop nodded.
“You don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to face him. Say the word and I’ll go in your place.” Z sounded righteous. Hop pictured him in Rafe’s office and winced at the embarrassing flare of jealousy.
No matter how crazy it made him, Hop couldn’t stand for any of them to take his place.
They’d never understand that this anxiousness sent a sting of pleasure around his balls.
“It’s fine.” He pressed his hands to the countertop and forced a smile at their reflections. If he couldn’t get control of himself they’d never let him go and he wanted—needed—to obey.
Somehow he made it through their next routine well enough to convince his friends he was fine. He took his time, because the anticipation was a drug he’d missed. He cleaned his face and reapplied street-worthy makeup. He dressed in the outfit he’d arrived in and packed up his costumes and heels.
“Want us to wait for you?” Ansel asked.
“No, thanks. I’ll text you if it’s anything important. Probably just a schedule change or something.”
Ansel seemed dubious and didn’t point out how Mark was the one who handled unimportant details. The only reason the owner would need a face-to-face was for something big.
“Don’t text, call.” Ansel’s eyes were serious. “Tonight.”
Hop agreed.
They hugged and said their goodbyes. The Boyz left through the back. Hop watched them go and counted to one hundred. It didn’t help calm his racing pulse, but if he waited any longer Rafe might think him defiant and come find him.
The club music and lights created a new world of possibilities. Hop kept his purpose close to his chest, protected as if it were precious, all the way up the stairs.
The VIP bouncer let him through without a word.
Hop was expected.
His knees trembled as he found the secret door and climbed to the catwalk, gripping the railing. He’d worn his heels, of course—he was never without a pair—and if he wasn’t careful the points would fall right through the gaps in the steel floor.
The precariousness of his position, both physical and emotional, gave him a little tingle.
And right on its tail, a familiar wave of humiliation.
His entire life he’d fought his natural proclivities. They were strange and scary and taboo, to some. Inevitably, he gave in because fighting them took so much effort and it wore him down—killed the sparkle of life.
But each time he let his unpracticed, unsupervised lust rule, it’d been a disaster. In so many ways it had been dangerous, even damaging.