1. Baylor Buchanan

CHAPTER ONE

BAYLOR BUCHANAN

The club was so dark that I could barely see my hand in front of my face. How in the hell was I supposed to find a fuckable face in this crowd?

The neon strobe lights, deep bass, and pulsing beat of the dance music vibrated throughout my body, making my heart pump faster. Sweaty, writhing bodies packed the dance floor from wall to wall—it was all familiar old hat to me. The same old same old.

What was new was the absence of women wearing skimpy sequined dresses that barely covered their breasts, hanging all over the men at the bar hoping to get free drinks.

This club teemed with men. Only men.

This was my first gay nightclub experience, and I wasn’t leaving until I found someone’s dick I was interested in shoving down my throat.

I took it all in, my eyes tracking the shadows that danced along the dark walls as a haze of purple light swept past. Quickly, I realized the shadows were actual bodies. Entwined lovers caught up in the lustful magic of the club’s vibe. For a moment, I became a voyeur, fixated on watching men loving on men in plain sight. If I were lucky, that would be me by the end of the night, wrapped up in someone’s arms, caught up in the music and the magic. Lost to my hormones.

As I maneuvered through the dense crowd, seeking hands grabbed at me, copping a feel of anything they could palm in their desperate grasp. My ass, my dick, my stomach.

I didn’t mind allowing them to touch me. Isn’t that what I was here for?

To be touched?

To be taken by another man for the first time?

To experience the differences between men’s and women’s bodies?

A year ago, I would have laughed at myself. My best friend was gay, so I considered myself an ally. But I was the straightest ladies’ man in Southern California. I’d hit up every bar, nightclub, and dating app available to me. And yet here I was, thirty-eight and still single.

Over the past few months, I’d noticed a shift in my interest. Men started catching my attention. I stared longer, my thoughts ran deeper, and the more I entertained the idea, the more hyper-fixated I became. My curiosity about them was killing me, and I wasn’t leaving tonight until it was sated.

And that wasn’t going to happen until I made my way to the bar in search of liquid courage .

Fuck, even the bartender was smoking hot.

Dressed in tight, black boyshorts that cupped his junk, his fitted black vest left his toned bare arms on display for his big tippers. I had the insane urge to lick his biceps.

Once a manwhore, always a manwhore, no matter whether you were with men or women.

“What can I get you?”

The bartender looked me over like I was a pork chop marked half off in the butcher’s case.

“Your number,” I answered boldly.

He laughed, dismissing my lame attempt to pick him up as a joke. Giving up, I placed my order.

“I’ll have a rusty nail.” Go big or go home, right?

The hottie made a show of pouring my drink, spinning the bottle, and flipping it before sliding the squat glass down the bar top. I caught it and brought it to my lips, draining the honey-sweet Drambuie and scotch in one go. The liquor slid down my throat easily, creating a pleasant warmth in my belly.

“Can I get one more?” I called out over the noise, sliding the empty glass back his way.

After making a second drink, he passed the glass back with a wink. I kept my eyes on him as I drained it just as quickly as the first. The scotch quelled my anxiety and soothed my nerves. It made my head feel weightless, as if it was floating above my shoulders.

“That’s not the kind of drink you toss back. This isn’t a kegger.”

The admonishment spoken in a deep voice slithered into my ear over the music. His body heat radiated against my back as we were crowded against the bar, jockeying for the bartender’s attention.

Reaching over my shoulder, he grabbed my glass, swirling the amber dregs in front of me.

Then the voice that was smoother than the scotch I drank was back in my ear. “It’s meant to be savored.”

I glanced over my shoulder, praying his face matched his voice. Please be hot.

He was taller than me, maybe six-two? Sandy brown hair combed back neatly to expose his squared face and jaw. Dark blue eyes shined like sapphires reflecting the club lights. A straight nose, decent lips, and smoothly shaven, chiseled cheeks.

Fuck me. Literally .

“You want to dance, or do you want to buy me another drink? I promise to savor the next one,” I winked. My lips curled coyly, and his eyes dropped to my mouth.

My dick kicked in my black pants. Flirting with men was a whole different ball game than flirting with women. I was usually the aggressor, trying to walk that fine line between appearing interested and coming across like a creepy predator. Gone was the macho, alpha male, bad boy persona I usually used to pick up women. Now, I was acting… flirty. Slutty, even. Men didn’t want me to beat around the bush and play the long game. They just wanted to lay all their cards out on the table and get on with the next inning in the game.

Cut and dry, just how I liked it.

“Let’s dance,” the stranger decided .

He led me out onto the crowded dance floor. There was no room for autonomy or personal space with so many bodies packed into the tight quarters. He bumped up against my chest and smoothly snaked his arm around my hip, pulling our lower halves closer together. The man smelled amazing; Fahrenheit maybe? The scent affected my body chemistry, drawing me closer for another whiff.

I rocked my hips into his, and he held me there as he ground back, pressing his length against mine. God, I loved this. Loved the raw, masculine scent, and powerful energy colliding like a brewing storm, his tight, hard body with the same parts as mine, so different from what I was used to, yet so familiar. My hand grasped his shoulder as our hips moved in sync before dropping to his chest. His pecs were hard and tight, like mine. My thumb brushed his nipple, and I felt it pebble beneath his T-shirt. His eyes burned with heat, darkening until they were almost black.

With the music so loud, it was impossible to talk while dancing. We must have been standing near a speaker. I could feel the vibration pulse through my body like a tuning fork, commanding my hips to move of their own accord. He snaked his other hand around my neck, drawing me closer until our lips were just inches apart. I was too close to even see his eyes. He rested his forehead against mine, then bumped his nose into mine, and I knew what came next.

Nervous anticipation and excitement swirled in my gut, making my mouth water. He touched his warm lips to mine, a soft caress, and I pressed harder, coaxing him to open for me. My tongue slipped between his lips with ease, and I stole a taste of him, sliding my tongue over his like two snakes twisted together. He palmed the back of my head, threading his fingers through my short hair as he pulled me closer. He had effectively trapped me in his strong arms, a prisoner of his kiss.

I was in heaven.

We danced to three songs, moving together in a perfect rhythm, working up a sweat.

“Let’s grab that drink,” he suggested loudly in my ear, making a shudder rip through me.

I followed him to the bar, where he ordered a whiskey sour. I nodded, signaling I was good with that. “Two, please,” he called out. Holding out his credit card. We snagged a high-top table just as another couple vacated it. “I like the way you move your body,” he smirked playfully.

“Thanks, I dance a lot.” God, I sound stupid. “You know, at the clubs.” Great, now I sound like a clubber or a barfly. I suck at this! I definitely wasn’t used to the roles being reversed.

I’ve never had to worry about sounding interesting, just… not psychotic.

In a bar, a pretty face like mine and a credit card excused a whole host of character flaws. Tonight, he was buying the drinks, and I was in the unfamiliar and extremely disconcerting position of having to be alluring .

He tossed back his drink. “You work out? ”

Finally, a topic I could expound on. “Almost daily. You?”

“What do you say we get out of here and go work out together?”

Okaaay, not where I saw this going, but… “Sure. Is your gym open late?” I’d yet to find a new one here since moving to town and used the small one in my apartment building.

His brows shot up to his neatly combed hairline. “Excuse me?”

Oh! Fuck. He wanted to ‘ work out .’ Together . Interesting turn of phrase. “Just kidding. Where did you have in mind?”

His expression relaxed, and he smiled wolfishly. “There’s a Motel Six across the street.”

“Sounds great. Let’s go check out their gym,” I teased with a curl of my lips.

This guy is going to be my first, and I don’t even know his name. This is fucking nuts!

I followed him through the throng of writhing half-dressed bodies and when we spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of the club, I volunteered, “I’m Buck.” Sort of. It was short for Buchanan.

“Colin,” he introduced. “I’ll meet you in the lobby. My treat.” He added an eye-fuck to his offer to really sell it, but he needn’t have bothered because I was already sold.