Drink.
Never have I ever… been caught fucking outdoors on a motorcycle.
Drink.
Never have I ever… fucked a dude, then fucked his girlfriend right after.
That one had been a funny story.
One Halloween, he had been partying hard with some dude and his girlfriend, doing lines of coke and taking shots of whiskey, when his girlfriend decided she needed to run to the corner store to buy some more smokes. The second the bitch left the apartment, he pulled out his cock, and her boyfriend went for the ride of his life. He wasn’t sure how long the girlfriend had been standing there, but the moment her boyfriend came, she announced it was her turn and practically pushed her man off Diesel’s dick so that she could hop on and experience the ride herself.
Drink.
“I think you won this game,” Diesel said, sliding his hand down the Hungarian’s chest and grabbing the bulge jutting out from the man’s dress pants. “Or perhaps I’m the winner after all.”
Smiling, the man took a sip of his whiskey and let Diesel play with his cock.
Teasing and flirting. It was all part of the game.
Diesel would get the man nice and close, then stop, claiming he was getting thirsty. The man would either buy him a drink or ask him for a private show. That was the point at which Diesel would “finish the job”—for a fee, of course.
Onstage, the music shifted to some Euro fast-moving beat that Diesel and his untalented white ass could never hope to dance to. Somehow, Gunnar and Anders made it look so simple… and sexy.
Leave it to the six-foot-two, blond, blue-eyed Scandinavian brothers to make dancing to this crap somehow look like they were making a porn video onstage.
Whatever.
Two tables over, Isaac and Jared were having drinks with three strapping gentlemen who appeared to be from Bulgaria. Two didn’t speak English, while the third seemed to be translating for them.
Do translators provide translation services in the bedroom as well? That might make for an interesting encounter.
Watching his best friend and his boyfriend work together, Diesel almost felt jealous.Almost.
Adjusting his grip on the Hungarian’s thick piece of meat, Diesel glanced across the room to where Chase was sitting on a barstool chatting with Levi—his fiancé. Another case of love sickness striking hard atLa Maison.
Diesel didn’t exactly hate love… he just didn’t trust it. Love was an emotion that made smart people stupid and kind people into monsters. It was crazy how many people Diesel knew who were willing to stab someone in the head if they so much as looked at their partner.See? Crazy.
Finally, Diesel’s eyes fell on Matteo. The one man he owed everything to. The one man who cared if he lived or if he died.
Even Matteo, the man who swore off love so many years ago, was sitting at the bar staring lovingly into his partner Ares’s eyes.
How does that even happen? One day, Matteo was ready to stab the man in the eye just for breathing near him. The next, he was letting the man rub his belly and shower him with kisses.
See? Smart man, stupid.
There was no denying that his boss and mentor loved the crazy Russian. Romanian? German? Whatever the sneaky gun man was. Matteo had apparently gotten over his aversion to love and joined the other cultists as they polished off their crazy juice.
Then there was himself. The perfect reminder that all he had going for him was sex, drugs, and alcohol. All around him, he was surrounded by people who claimed to be his—his family.Yes, they all loved him and would always be there if he needed them. But in the end, they all had their own lives, and like everyone else in his life, they would all eventually leave him.
Alone.
In the end, that was all he was.
Letting go of Mr. Hungarian’s throbbing cock, Diesel downed the last of his drink, then signaled for their server to bring them another round.
He wasn’t drunk enough yet.
2
