LUKA (The Rhythm Series, Book 2)

  I smiled at the way she was fishing for information.

  “Yeah, my boyfriend.”

  Her lips popped open and she blinked rapidly. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, and then relief.

  I knew what she was thinking: if I was straight and rejected her, it bruised her ego; if I was gay, it wasn’t the same.

  I let her carry on thinking that, but just to clarify . . .

  “And even if there wasn’t someone waiting for me,” I added, “I never date people I work with. A good friend of mine says that all the drama should be on the stage.”

  She laughed. “Well, that’s definitely true!”

  We arranged to meet up for coffee the next day, and then I walked her to the bus stop, standing with her until her bus arrived.

  I wasn’t expecting Seth to be waiting for me when I got home, but he was.

  And I wasn’t expecting to be so excited to see him, but I was.

  “Hi,” he said softly.

  I opened the front door, smiling over my shoulder as he followed me in. I was going to make last night’s fantasy come true.

  As soon as we were inside, Seth pushed me against the wall, his aggression turning me on immediately. I grabbed his arms, spinning him around so he was the one pinned against the wall, and I ground my hips against his, feeling the hot core of his hard dick pressing between my thighs.

  “Tonight you’re mine,” I whispered, licking up his neck and circling my tongue around his ear.

  His head thudded back against the wall.

  “Yes, anything! God, yes!”

  His fingers tugged at the hem of my t-shirt, trying to shove it upwards while we were kissing.

  Breathing hard, my skin flushed with heat, I stepped back for a second and let him pull it over my head roughly. He tossed the shirt aside without looking, letting his hands roam over my body, the warm dry palms stroking over my chest, my stomach, my flanks, and curving around my waist to my back.

  I kissed him hard while Seth fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Growing impatient, I yanked his shirt open, and we were skin to skin, the combined heat of our bodies fueling the urgency, the need.

  Slowly he sank to his knees, his eyes black with desire, wild with want as he stared up at me. He kissed my stomach, smiling as I sucked in a breath.

  “Am I forgiven?” he asked, reaching for my belt buckle.

  “For what?”

  “Being an arse, mostly.”

  “Yeah, sure . . . agh . . . fuck, yeah.”

  I had to grab onto his shoulders as he unzipped my jeans and pulled my shaft free.

  “You really have the most beautiful cock,” he said, kissing up the length, his lips soft and warm, wet and tantalizing.

  I wanted his softness, I wanted his hardness, I wanted his gentle hands and his aggressive mouth. God, I wanted it all.

  I wanted it now. But tonight I was in charge. I grabbed his hair and thrust against his mouth.

  He kissed the tip, sucking the crown lightly. I grit my teeth as his tongue pressed against my slit and he sucked again.

  One hand reached around to grab my ass, anchoring me against him, and the other weighed my heavy balls, massaging them till I groaned again. He laughed quietly, the vibration humming along the length of my dick, driving me to a new level of need.

  “The games stop now,” I bit out.

  He stared up at me, a small smile on his face.

  “Okay.”

  And with that word, he swallowed me down, sucking and licking, pulling back so he could run his tongue along the bulging vein that was standing out like a relief map.

  The wet heat of his mouth, his searching hands, the glint in his eyes, his soft hair in my hands as I fucked his face, it was too much. Too much and not enough.

  I felt the orgasm shoot like quick fire from the base of my spine, fizzing through my whole body as I poured into his mouth without warning.

  His throat contracted around me, sucking more from me until I was limp and spent.

  He pulled his mouth from my dick with a faint pop, licking his lips, before dropping a sweet kiss onto my semi. Then he stood up, kissing me hard as I tasted myself, pressing our bodies together. A new bolt of lust blew through me, and my dick twitched.

  I ran my fingers over the straining zipper of his pants, watching his eyes close and his mouth drop open.

  “You’re gonna give me your ass tonight.”

  “I . . .”

  “Say yes.”

  “God, yes.”

  “Should I make you beg?”

  He shook his head, a desperate look of hunger on his face.

  “You’ve got to say you want me, Seth. I want to hear the words.”

  After everything that had happened between us, he needed to say it, to admit it out loud.

  “I want you!” he whispered against my neck as I bit his collarbone.

  “Say my name,” I insisted, gripping his wrists.

  “Luka!”

  “That’s better.”

  I grinned at him as I yanked up my jeans so I wouldn’t fall over when I walked into the bedroom. He followed quickly, frowning slightly. I assumed it was because he was still hung-up on it being Sarah’s apartment. I didn’t give him time to think, pushing him down onto the bed and crawling on top of him.

  “Now tell me you want me and say my name.”

  “Bastard!” he ground out as he gasped and tried to grab me.

  “That’s not it,” I teased. “Try again.”

  “Luka!”

  “Yes?” I laughed. “Say please!”

  “I fucking want you, Luka! Please!”

  His arms looped around my neck, pulling my face to his.

  “I’ve imagined doing this again so many times,” he whispered, nuzzling my throat and pressing soft kisses against my Adam’s apple. “So many times. God, Luka, you’re so fucking sexy.”

  I paused, and he looked up at me with wide, wondering eyes.

  It’s hard to explain why his words bothered me. Of course I wanted him to be attracted to me, but I wanted it to be more than that. I wanted him to know me.

  I pasted on a smile and leaned down to kiss him again, but Seth held my shoulders firmly.

  “What was that look? What did I say?”

  “Nothing, I’m fine.”

  It’s all about the packaging, I know. I work hard to make my body strong and graceful, to be able to dance on stage for two hours non-stop. Gary always says we’re athletes with better shoes.

  But I didn’t do anything to earn my face—just a set of fucked up genetics handed down from my asshole parents.

  Sure, I want to look good, but occasionally I want someone to see past the exterior. I’ve been earning my own money and paying my own way since I was 17. I had to grow up fast and rely on no one except myself. You have to be smart and tough in this business, or you get chewed up and spat out. I’m a fucking champion, not some pretty fegi boy-toy that he picked up in a club.

  His confusion cleared as he looked up at me, and he stroked his palms down my forearms, working his fingers into my tight fists so he could hold my hands.

  “You’re worried that I just want a handsome boyfriend? Luka, when I met you at that party, I heard you laughing. I heard this wonderful, carefree laugh, and I was intrigued. You sounded so . . . joyful. I looked for whoever it was, in all those crowds of wannabes, and when I saw your face, it was choirs of angels singing. But I wanted to meet the man who laughed with his whole being. So yes, I think you’re fun. And yes, I think you’re smart—after all, you gave me a second chance, didn’t you? And yes, I think you’re beautiful and insanely hot. And . . . I think we could have something special. Not just based on sex . . . although I’m really hoping there’ll be a lot of that, as well.”

  I watched his eyes as he spoke. In dance, you need to be able to read your partner—you feed off their emotions and reactions to the music and the steps. Seth’s body language told me he was sincere. I badly, badly wanted to belie
ve him.

  His gaze made me feel wide open and vulnerable, and I felt heat rise in my cheeks.

  “I like the way you blush,” he whispered.

  His words were so intimate, I found it hard to look at him. That never happened to me. And I never blushed.

  He smiled softly, urging me closer, until our breaths merged. Then that torrent of heat ignited again, and we were tearing at each other’s clothes until we were both naked, all hard muscles and sharp edges bucking against each other.

  I jerked open a drawer in the bedside cabinet to find the lube, while Seth bit my ass, hard.

  “Sranje!” I yelled, rubbing my butt.

  “God, you sound so sexy when you talk in your own language,” he half-laughed, half-gasped.

  “Pokaži mi svojo lepo rit. That means roll over and show me your ass,” I ordered.

  “Yes, sir! Um, Luka, can you let me put the condom on you. It’s a thing—it turns me on.”

  I smiled down at him, a glint in my eye.

  “Oh yeah? Because you look plenty turned on to me,” and I flicked his rock hard dick with my fingers, making him jerk away.

  “Hey! Careful with the crown jewels!”

  “Turn over,” I repeated, my patience running out fast.

  I lubed my cock and then rimmed up and down the seam of his ass, working my tongue inside, before I used my lubed fingers. His moans were making it hard for me to take it slow. For me, that’s the only disadvantage of guy-on-guy sex: you can’t just plow right into an ass, you’ve got to work it up or someone’s gonna get hurt. Sometimes you don’t want foreplay, you just wanna fuck hard. But I knew Seth would be worth the wait.

  Seth’s breathing was shallow, his thin body tense and still, small ripples pebbling his skin. I moved further down, kissing his back, tasting his salt, smelling the musk of his body, arousing my own hunger to insane levels.

  We both gasped as I pushed past the tight ring of muscle, and then I was inside him. For a second I held still.

  “Oh God, fuck me, Luka!”

  Music to my ears.

  I COULDN’T STOP smiling. I was one of those smug bastards that you see on the way to work, smiling their asses off, and you know, you just know, that they had amazing sex the night before.

  Yeah, well today it was my turn. And the sex had been great all week.

  Seth had made it pretty damn clear to me—several times a night—how he felt about me. He said that he wasn’t a guy to hold back or play games, and I really liked that about him. I really liked him, period.

  That was kind of a scary thought for me, to let someone in so quickly, to let them get close to me. It wasn’t about trust or friendship, although I liked him as a friend—it was about connection—the rare feeling that you were meant to meet that person.

  After hours of crazy-good sex that first night, he’d persuaded me to go with him back to his place, so Michael wouldn’t be left alone all night. Yeah. Sweet.

  And despite the fact that he had to leave for work at the stupidly early hour of 5.30AM—something to do with the Tokyo markets that I didn’t understand—he’d taken the time to make breakfast for me and left it in his kitchen. He also let me sleep in at his apartment, not worrying that I might want to rifle through his underwear drawer (I didn’t), or hack his home computer (wouldn’t have a clue), or boil his rabbit.

  In fact, each morning, I drank his coffee and shared an awesome fruit salad and pastries with Michael, while we sat in the sun on Seth’s balcony, watching the city wake, the distant sounds of London drifting upwards.

  It felt like a new start, something good.

  Then I put Michael back in his playpen with some strawberries, and caught the bus home, enjoying the morning sunshine.

  I may also have taken a nap when I got back to my apartment, feeling like all was well with the world. Until I showed up for the final rehearsals with Alice, knowing we were covering vacation for other dancers and would be in the show tonight.

  She looked like shit, with dark bags under her eyes, and her movements jerky and jittery. With anyone else, I’d have wondered if they were on crack, but I knew it was pure nerves with her.

  “Oh my God! I’m so glad you’re here, Luka!” she said shakily, hugging the ever-living crap out of me. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I’m so nervous.”

  “You’ll be fine,” I said as soothingly as I could, secretly wondering if she really could pull off a show in front of more than 2,000 people.

  “Do you think so?” she asked desperately.

  “Sure,” I lied. “You’re a good dancer.”

  That last part was true although she was inexperienced, but her nerves were crippling. I couldn’t help wondering how she’d gotten the job—because there was no way she’d auditioned for this gig.

  We rehearsed for three hours with the rest of the understudy ensemble while Kathryn shouted out the moves over the canned music. My feet were bruised and battered by the end, and I’d stopped listening to Alice’s horrified apologies each time she kneed me in the balls, trod on my feet, or kicked my shins.

  Even though she still wasn’t sure of all the sequences, I turned pleading eyes on Kathryn who agreed to a break, although she didn’t look happy.

  Gretchen had been watching for the last 20 minutes, probably wanting to get in another fitting before showtime.

  When Alice went for a bathroom break, I turned to Kathryn.

  “She’s not ready.”

  “That’s blindingly obvious! Bloody hell, I’ve seen three-legged llamas who dance better than she can.”

  “Her dancing is fine—you’re making her nervous.”

  Kathryn shot me a venomous look. “If Arlene was here, Miss Alice Munroe’s arse would be grass, no matter who her uncle is.”

  That explained a few things.

  I stretched out on the stage, easing my muscles, and turned my phone back on.

  I smiled when I saw two messages from Seth.

  Miss you already.

  I think you love Michael more than me. It’s the ears, right?

  The guy was nuts. Damn, he made me smile.

  After a short break, the regular dancers started to arrive. I felt the jolt of adrenaline as we did almost a full run-through, but without the singers, and recorded music giving us our cues. Alice did much better, and I watched her confidence soar. By then we’d been rehearsing for over five hours. My feet hurt, my legs were throbbing—I don’t think I’ve ever danced so much in one day, with a two-hour show ahead.

  I grabbed a liter bottle of water and chugged it in one go. I needed to stay hydrated or I’d be getting cramps in my muscles.

  Alice came and sat with me, wide-eyed and trying not to panic.

  I put my arm around her and she leaned into me as we iced our sore muscles and tired feet. I discreetly placed another ice-pack on my crotch.

  “Do you want to walk through the third number again?” I offered. “Help you get it straight in your mind?”

  “Oh my God, would you?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, deciding that an extra rehearsal would be the quickest way to keep my balls long term.

  Ninety minutes before the curtain was to go up, the leads arrived and started their vocal warmups. You never know with the leads if you’re going to get a diva or someone really nice. When I worked with Kelly Clarkson, I was expecting a bitch on wheels, but she was awesome, hard-working and down to earth, really friendly, and just hung out with everyone.

  Martin, the lead guy, shook my hand and kissed Alice on her cheek, but didn’t seem all that interested. Beverley, who played the Whitney Houston role, was warmer, but kind of distracted, although she did welcome us to the family, which I thought was a nice touch.

  The chorus guys’ changing room was in the basement of the theater, so we had to run up the stairs to the backstage area between a couple of the quick costume changes. But waiting in the wings, you could feel the audience just behind the heavy curtain, their excitement spilling over.

>   I hadn’t talked to Alice again, but I could see her on the other side of the stage. She looked like she was going to be sick. I hoped not—it’s no fun slipping in vomit, especially someone else’s.

  From a corner in the wings, I could see the audience, actually see all their faces, right to the back of the Upper Circle. Alice’s expression was frozen, and I knew she was thinking, ‘Oh my God, what am I doing here?’

  But I wasn’t worried, even though she was shaking. Because we all feel like that. When the music starts, you switch on, and you do it. Jesus, the buzz—it’s the biggest feeling.

  The lights dimmed and the music pounded out, the ten guys and girl in the orchestra sounding much bigger in the vast theater.

  Beverly’s voice was huge, blasting out through the speakers. I didn’t have time to think about it anymore, and my body knew what to do. Plus, the other guys were totally professional, and if I missed a cue, I only had to look at them to know where I was and what steps I should be doing. I didn’t expect to need their help, but it’s good to know that the other dancers have your back—everyone wants a good show.

  And I was flying, electricity flowing through my veins, spinning me around, reaching for the stars in those white-hot spotlights.

  Magical.

  We were just coming to the intermission when it happened.

  It was watching a train wreck. In slow motion. You’re screaming inside, but like one of those dreams where you’re trying to run through quicksand, I couldn’t get there in time.

  Alice took off on the wrong foot in the wrong direction, heading into the dancers coming from the opposite direction. The first two managed to dodge her, but the third, a really big guy, crashed into her, sending her sprawling across the stage, nearly tripping Beverley who was trying to perform her show-stopping solo at the end of the first act.

  Alice landed on her ass, center stage, and I heard a ripple of shock and then amusement rise up from the audience. I waited for her to get up and out of the way, move, anything! But she just sat there, an expression of horror frozen on her face.

  In my head I was screaming at her. Move! The first rule of dance, the first rule of theater, the show must go on. It doesn’t matter what happens on the stage, you keep going, but Alice had frozen. Not only had she caused a crash, but she was about to cause a pile-up as the dancers coming from the wings hadn’t seen what happened, and would be running onstage and tripping over her.