Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

I t's over a week before I remember the card I was given. Okay, I'm lying. I've been thinking about it a lot, especially as day after day passes without me getting laid. But I finally have a couple days off. Granted, it's a Monday and a Tuesday, which are not great clubbing nights—which is why I have them off—but I'm really not interested in going to this place after work. I'm not that desperate to get laid yet.

I've got a routine that works for me. I work from eight 'til two a.m., relax for an hour or two, sleep, get up and go to the gym, then go home, shower, and get ready for work. If I'm that desperate for sex, I can usually hook up in the changing rooms at the gym. I haven't been that desperate yet.

So here I am on a Monday afternoon, turning the card over and over in my hand. Blank on the back, blood red writing on the front. Just a name and address. The Giving Place. It's a mystery. Night club? Private club? The later is most likely, given I need an invitation to get in. At least I assume that's what the card means. Hell, it looks like it's on the thirteenth floor so I'm guessing it's not something you're going to notice from the street.

But what kind of a club? I'm thinking because the stud who gave it to me did so after I was caught checking him out pretty hard that it's a place where I'll find more guys like him and where they'd be amenable to sex. But that is just a guess. For all I know, it's a place where they knock you out and harvest your organs. Maybe the giving in the title is giving to other people after they've taken from you.

The truth is, I just don't know what to expect, and I have to admit that's a part of the draw. It's fucking intriguing.

I have tomorrow off, so if I wind up staying late, getting drunk, or ripped apart, whether from fucking or fighting, I have all day tomorrow and a good chunk of Wednesday to recover before I have to go to work. So I'm going to do it. I'm going to go and find out exactly what this Giving Place is.

I check my watch. Not even five o'clock yet. Will it even be open if I head over there now? And what about dinner? I'm going to be hungry in an hour, starving in two. Maybe they serve meals or bar snacks there. Again, I guess it depends on what fucking type of place it is, and I just don't know.

As I get ready, pouring myself into my tightest black jeans and putting on a harness covered by a shiny, sheer T-shirt, I take a second to question the sanity of going to this place that I haven't a clue about. But only a second. I can take care of myself. And if I'm lucky, I'm going to get what I need there.

I smooth my short hair down with my hands, rolling my eyes at the cowlick over my forehead that refuses to behave, even if I get product involved. Then I check myself out, turning a bit to make sure my ass still looks good in the jeans. It does. I'm a fucking stud, and I know it. Not in a cocky arrogant way, but I am six nine and I fucking take care of myself.

I tell myself if I'm going to do this, I need to stop stalling and just do it. So I head out, looking up the address on my phone. There's a bus I can catch a couple blocks over that goes right by the place so I head for the stop. That way I won't have to shoehorn my way into the back of an Uber. My timing is good and I only have to wait a couple minutes for the bus to trundle up to the stop, and I pile on with everyone else headed this way. I grab hold of the pole above my head and keep an eye out for my stop.

It isn't long at all before I'm off the bus and standing in front of a skyscraper. I look up and up, the place over twenty floors for sure. And I was right about the Giving Place not being visible from the street—it isn't even listed on the board in the lobby. Lots of what looks like lawyers and accountants and shit, but no Giving Place. None of the places listed are on the thirteenth floor either, and as I wait for the elevator, it suddenly occurs to me that maybe I'm being punked. Maybe this was just a practical joke. It's not like most buildings even list a thirteenth floor due to superstition. I guess I'll find out when I get in the elevator.

I'm half holding my breath by the time the car stops at the lobby and the doors slide open. A half dozen people come out, all of them focused on getting out and heading home for the day. I'm the only one who gets on. I look at the panel and I'll be damned if there isn't a thirteenth floor listed right there between the twelve and the fourteen. I press the button and the doors slide closed silently.

The whole trip is quiet, no elevator music and no mechanical noises either. Even the upward movement is practically unnoticeable. I don't even realize that the elevator has stopped when suddenly the doors slide open.

I step out into a classy-as-fuck lobby. The whole place is black marble with gold accents. Damn, maybe my clubbing clothing is not appropriate after all. This place screams luxury. There's a big desk across the lobby, next to a pair of huge double doors that are closed.

The guy behind the desk gives me a smile. "Hi there, can I help you?"

"I hope so." I don't know if there's like a secret password or anything so I just dig the card out of my pocket and hand it over. Either the guy knows what it means or he doesn't and I'm ready for either to be true. Although I do have to admit, at this point if I don't get to go in and at least see what kind of a place this is, I'm going to be disappointed.

His smile widens and he says, "Welcome to the Giving Place. You can go in through those doors and follow the hall down to the main room. Enjoy your time at the Giving Place."

He presses a button and there's a click coming from the doors. I'm guessing he's just unlocked them.

I return his smile, not showing any of the nerves that are buzzing at the back of my head now that I'm here, still not knowing what the fuck I'm about to walk into. It's exciting as fuck. "Thanks."

I grab the handle of the right-side door and pull it open.

It's kind of anticlimactic. I know the guy at the desk said there was a hall I was supposed to follow to get down to the main room, but damn, I was hoping for some hint to what this place was. It appears I'm going to remain curious for a little longer.

The hall is fairly long, and there are doors on either side of it with no indication what's going on in them. So I've still got nothing. I really hope the punch line to all this is worth it.

I can hear the main room before I see it. Voices, most fairly low, soft, a few others louder. And moans. There's definitely moans and they're unmistakably moans of pleasure. Fucking A. Sounds like I am going to be getting my rocks off after all. And if the guys are big like my three friends from the line at the nightclub, I'll be getting them off in my favorite manner.

The hallway opens up into a large room. The lighting is low, but not so low I can't make most of the place out. There are a bunch of circular couches, most of them occupied with at least a couple of people, many with more than that. The first thing that really stands out is the number of people making out. As in lots and as in right there in the middle of everyone else with clearly no worries about fucking in public.

The second thing that stands out is that while all the guys are at least around my size, a good half of them are… fucking ginormous. I'm talking guys that make me feel small. Seven, eight feet easily and huge. Biceps the fucking size of my torso. And the bulges at their crotches promise that their cocks are in proportion with the rest of them.

Fuck me raw, I do believe I am right where I want to be. I look around to see if the guy from the trio who gave me the business card invite is here because I do believe I owe him a thanks. This is when I realize that all but the most into-the-lovemaking dudes are pretty much all staring at me.

I throw them a grin. I might not be the biggest guy in the room, for once, but I refuse be intimidated. "Hey. Nice place you've got here." Because it so is.

"Hi! You made it!" A guy pops up from one of the couches and comes over. And I realize it's the guy who gave me the card. And I can be forgiven for it taking a moment or two to realize because he is not wearing club clothes. Nope, not at all. Though he is dressed to play. His leather pants are skintight, and there is no mistaking that his cock has a piercing given how on display it is in those pants. Nipple clamps with jewels dangling from them are all that he wears above the waist, and he is stacked to the ceiling, but he's still smaller than the big guy that joins him in front of me.

"I did. Thanks for the card." I'm staring at his companion, which is probably rude as fuck, but damn…

The guy grins at me, eyes twinkling, and holds out his hand. "Steve. And this is Kalos."

I shake his hand. "Callum, but everyone calls me Cal. Pleased to meet you both."

"You wanna come sit? Have something to eat? To drink?"

"Sure, thanks." I notice that I'm still getting a lot of looks, pretty much all from the really big guys. Looks that make me feel like I'm dinner. I'm not upset by this at all.

"I guess I could eat a bite or two." I know I'll be hungry soon enough.

"Help yourself to any of the munchies." Steve indicates the table in the middle of the circular couch where we sit, and I realize it's like a buffet: several big trays full of what looks like various bites of food, some sweet, some savory, and bottles of water along with a few wine bottles and currently empty wineglasses.

I sit next to Steve and grab myself a bottle, opening the water and taking a swig. The cold water feels good on my tongue and over my throat.

Several big guys join us at our table and Steve nudges my shoulder. "I knew you'd be popular."

I chuckle at that. "I'm actually small compared to most of these guys," I tell him in my best quiet voice.

"Yeah, that's the exciting part." Steve looks up at the big guy with him, love and adoration in his eyes. That's pretty cool. You don't see that often in a sex club. Because that's obviously what this is, though it's trying to keep a veneer of respectability over it. Like the guys who've joined us aren't just pouncing on me. Or maybe not. I watch as this huge guy leads a guy my size past us, by the leash attached to his dick. My jaw hits the floor and my cock tries to claw its way out of my jeans. Fuck, that was something else. Unexpected and totally hot.

"Introduce us to your friend," big guy number one suggests, and the others add their agreements.

Steve opens his mouth but before he can say a word, another big guy, this one with a gaze that promises to set me on fire steps in front of me and offers me his hand.

"Come dance with me." His voice is smoky, and it makes something in the pit of my stomach coil up and settle heavily. Wow. I mean the other guys are hot, sexy, and for sure could give me the fight I'm looking for, and probably more, but this guy. I just might be willing to lick his boots, and I don't lick anyone's boots.

I stand and the top of my head doesn't even come up to his shoulders. Fuck me raw. I didn't even know someone being this much bigger than me would be such a fucking turn on. It's not like I have any experience with it.

Without another word, and ignoring the grumbles from the guys who'd come to sit on the couch with me, he takes my hand and leads me across the room to a small, dark area where a few people are dancing, and a few others are clearly fucking standing up. I ignore all of them in favor of leaning against the big guy as his hands slide around my waist, holding me. The music is sultry, putting all sorts of thoughts in my head. So does the prodigious erection currently resting against my abs.

"What's your name?" he asks, the smoke still in his voice, which still feels like its sliding around and through me.

I look up, and in this low light, his eyes are just as smoky and dark as his voice. "Cal."

"Cal." He says my name like he's tasting it on his tongue. "I'm Hades."

"Hades? Like the fucking lord of the underworld Hades?"

He grins, the look wicked as hell. "Yes. No relation."

Oh fuck, that cracks me up, and he just keeps dancing as I chortle. No relation. Hilarious.

We dance a little longer, really just swaying against each other, his cock rub-rub-rubbing against my belly, mine rubbing against his tree-trunk-like thigh. I could possibly get off like this, but what would be the fun in that?

Like his thoughts have gone to the same place as mine, he lowers his head to my ear, his breath tickling slightly. "You want to see my place?"

I shiver and I nod, because oh yeah, I do. I so do.

I want him to take me home and throw me up against the back of his door. I want to shove him off me and then fight him all the way to his bed. I might be wearing my best pair of jeans, but I wouldn't care if they got ripped as we tore the clothes off each other.

He takes my hand, or rather his hand swallows mine up and it occurs to me for the first time that I might not win this coming tug of war with him. I might not wind up on top.

A shiver goes through me, but I'm not backing off, I'm going with him. Maybe when we get outside, the cool night air will snap me out of it, but right now, a part of me wants to lose this fight for dominance. It would be a first, and I haven't had one of those in a very long time.

To my surprise, we don't take the long hallway back to the entrance. Instead, we only go down a few steps and then he turns at one of the doors along the way and opens it up, inviting me in.

Does he just have a room here or does he live here? I guess it doesn't really matter—this is a room we can use to get our rocks off together and that's what I'm here for.

I step in, and I've barely had a chance to even glance around when he closes the door and pushes me up against it. He bends to bring our mouths together, the door hard and unyielding behind me, he is just as hard and unyielding in front of me. Except that he's warm and he tastes like smoke and sex and undeniably male. Fuck me raw.

Then he grabs me by the waist and fucking hoists me up more than a foot so I'm hanging there between him and the door. I get why he did it, though. Now he's only a little bit higher than me and the kiss is easier, deeper. Better.

His tongue fills my mouth, his scent fills my nose, and the fact that there's an enormous hard-on pressing against my thighs and my own erection fills my brain. I put my hands against his shoulders and push, and it's like a mouse trying to move a locomotive. I can fight him all I want, but caught as I am between the wall's rock and his hard place, I don't have any leverage. My pushing turns into holding, my fingers curling around his shoulders as I hold on.

I have no clue how long we kiss for. All I know is he's making me dizzy and I haven't had a kiss this good in… well, maybe ever. Most of my hookups involve a lot more pushing each other around than kissing.

Eventually my hands make their way to his head, and I twist his hair in my fingers. I tug a little and that earns me a grunt so I do it again, harder this time. He growls into our kisses, his huge hands tightening around my waist. His fingers are going to leave bruises and I can't wait to see them tomorrow, to touch them and remember this. I do like a souvenir or two the morning after the night before.

My feet are dangling uselessly off the floor, and I hoist one leg up, wrapping it around his waist and tugging him in tighter against me. Oh yeah, that's better. I am not a passive lover.

Grunting, he shifts his hold to my thigh, squeezing, leaving more fucking bruises I am sure. I throw my head back and laugh. Fuck, I am having the best time.

He doesn't seem upset I ended the kisses. Instead, he latches onto my throat, his teeth sharp as he bites and then scrapes them along my skin. It makes me shiver, and when the suction starts, his lips tight around the same spot, a shudder moves through me.

He drags his teeth along my collarbone, leaving my nerves sparking along behind his mouth, and I groan. I mutter something like, "so fucking hot," but I'm not really paying attention to the words coming out of my mouth. This sexy motherfucker in front of me is far more interesting than anything I could come up with to say.

He grabs hold of my waist again and turns us. I throw my other leg up around his hips as well, and his hand slides down to my ass to help support me. We walk slowly from the room we're in to another, and I can't fucking believe it. I am being carried. All six foot fucking nine of me. Carried like it's nothing, like Hades could do it all damn day.

It makes me moan. And I do it again when he tosses me down onto his bed. It's not king size, it's giant size and so comfortable. It yields a little bit, just enough, and it's soft against my back without that weird soft that you sink too far into.

He takes a moment to stare down at me in the middle of his bed and I stare right back.

"You like what you see?"

"Too many clothes." He tears the see-through blouse I'm wearing over the leather harness right off my body and grunts. "Better. Not quite there, but better."

His gaze travels to my jeans and then back up to my face. He quirks an eyebrow and I know—I just know—that he's giving me an option. I can ditch the jeans on my own or I can let him tear them off. I just stare back defiantly. Unlike pretty much all my encounters, I'm damn sure this one is going to end in me bottoming, but I'm not going to just roll over and offer him my ass. He's going to have to work for it.

Understanding lights up his eyes and he grins. He doesn't seem the least bit disappointed that I've chosen the hard way.

Still holding my gaze, he climbs onto the bed and kneels over me. Then he undoes the top button of my jeans before grabbing the zipper and I have a half second to wonder if maybe going commando hadn't been the best idea before he begins to pull it down. He doesn't yank, though, he's doing it carefully, proving he knows that the flesh pushing hard against the constraints of my jeans is precious cargo.

I'm almost disappointed, I'd thought this was going to be rough and tumble, push and pull, working-for-it sex.

Then he grabs both sides of my unzipped jeans, his fingers against my cock making me wriggle, and pulls, tearing the denim in two and yanking it off me. Yes! I scramble to sit up and grab for his pants, tugging at the leather ties. I'm not going to be returning the favor of tearing them off—they are leather after all—but I'm not going to be a shy and coy and gentle.

I finally get them undone and yank at them, forcing them down past his hips. His cock springs out at me and I have to gasp. I have to. I knew he was big—he's a great big guy, much bigger than me, and I'd seen the bulge, felt it against me—but damn. I have never seen a cock as big as he is. I've never even imagined a cock as big as he is. I don't think I've seen dildos this big. He is going to ruin me for life.

"Don't worry, we'll work up to it." He sounds half turned on, half amused.

"I can take it," I inform him, chin jutting up.

"You can. But we'll play growing dildos first."

Growing dildos? Is this guy for real? Much as I want to laugh at him for the words though, they turn me on. I am not a bottom boy. I swear I'm not. But I want this. I want him to force me to bottom. I want him to fill me for days with one dildo after another, each one bigger than the last.

And somehow, he knows it. He knows this thing about me that I didn't even know. That's… it's fucking dangerous is what it is. I could go for a guy like this.

I push those thoughts out of my head. This is sex. This is getting my rocks off in the way I like best. Hard-fought, hard-won, hard.

I realize we've been staring at each other like we're in a standoff and that it's my turn. "Says you," is what I come back with, and I know it's lame, but I put a brave face on it and pretend like it was the wittiest, smartest thing I could have said.

He laughs, but it's not nasty. No, that laugh is telling me that he enjoys this game as much as I do.

He pulls his leather pants off completely and climbs onto the bed, dropping to all fours, so he's caging me with his arms and legs, and he brings our mouths back together in another kiss. This one harder, deeper than the earlier ones, and I revel in them. Our tongues fight together, slapping and delving. So good. I grab hold of his arms and hook one leg around his upper thigh. Then, using him as leverage, I throw all my weight to the side where I have my leg hooked around him, and we roll over so now he's on the bottom. I know I managed it because I caught him off guard, but I still feel pride in having managed to switch positions on him.

I lower myself, letting him take all my weight, my legs falling outside of his. My maneuvering didn't break our kisses for even a moment, and we keep sucking at each other's tongues, tasting each other's mouths. I start sliding against him, rolling my hips back so his cock rubs against my ass and sliding forward so mine drags along his belly. I might come just like this; it's so fucking hot and rough and necessary.

"No coming." The words are growled, his gaze intense. It's like he was reading my fucking mind. Or maybe just my body—I am rubbing against him like we're on the home stretch.

He grabs hold of my hips and stills them, holding me down against him. I try to move, because I want the fucking friction, but he doesn't let me.

I groan, and it's a complaint, but it only makes him grin.

"Do you need a cock ring?" His words ring out like a challenge between us. A challenge I can't let go uncontested.

I set my jaw and glare down at him. "No, I do not."

"All right then, no coming until I say so or there will be punishments."

I snort. "I'd like to see you try." And I would. I would love to see him try. Just the thought has me revved up all the more. There's no fucking way I'm going to last that long, so he'd better fucking say I can come soon.

He just smiles at me, a shit-eating grin that says he knows exactly what I've been thinking. Again. He is definitely far too dangerous; he knows me too damned well.

Of course, that's what's going to make this so much fun. No hiding, no half-assing it, no turning back. I'm here and this is happening, and I am reveling in every fucking second of it.

"Suck my cock." The words are quiet, but firm.

"Why would I do that? You suck my cock."

"Oh, I'll have my taste eventually, but you'll do me first. I don't expect you to get the whole thing into your mouth, but I know you want a taste."

He's damn right I'm not going to get the whole thing into my mouth—I don't think my lips can spread that wide, and I sure as hell can't get all the way down on him. But he's also right about me wanting to taste him.

Our gazes stay locked together in a battle of wills and much as I hate to admit it, I know I'm going to lose. I want a fucking taste of him. A half smile quirks the right side of his mouth as if he's still reading my mind and knows I'm about to give in. And that hardens my resolve.

"You first," I tell him as I surge up, moving so my cock is near his mouth.

I get as far as painting his lower lip with the pre-come that's dripping from me when he takes control and flips me over. I fight him, pushing at his arms, his chest, and trying to wriggle my way out from under him. He's got a hold of me, though, and the plain truth is that he's stronger than me.

He copies my earlier attempt and moves up along my body. He doesn't go fast like I did, though. He knows he's got the upper hand, and he moves slowly, holding my defiant gaze all the way as he drags his ass along my body. And then there's his cock, bumping against my lips in a perverse hello.

I hold his gaze for as long as I can, refusing to give in, but I can smell him—smoky and musky—and a drop of pre-come slips onto my lips, hot and somehow tingly, and I can't help it, my tongue slips out to slide along my lower lip, pulling his flavor in. Oh fuck me raw, a slight tingle, smoke and salt, and with a cry, I open up and lick along his slit, wanting more.

I can't believe it, but that tingle on my lips wasn't my imagination. As I lick his slit, the drops I collect definitely make my tongue zing. I don't know how he's doing it, but I'm not complaining. Then there's the smoky-salty flavor of him. He's like no one I've ever tasted before. So fucking unique and I'm pretty sure I could become addicted to his flavor.

I push that thought aside and continue my explorations, moving out from his slit and slowly exploring every inch of the bulbous head, licking it and dragging my lips over it. Then, I open my mouth and wrap them around the head. With a little practice, I might be able to take some of him right into my mouth, but for now, just sucking on the head is more than enough for me. I lick at his slit over and over while I suck, and I'm rewarded with more of those amazing drops of liquid. I swear I can feel them tingling all the way down. I'm also rewarded by his moans. They fall down around me like offerings. I'd smile but my lips are so stretched around his girth that that's not happening.

He grabs my head, fingers curling through my hair and holds me in place as he moves. Not a lot, not shoving deeper into me, but little circular motions of his hips that shifts the flesh in my mouth a little. Enough to mimic the act of fucking that that's what it feels like. My cock jerks, and I can feel my own pre-come dripping onto my belly, my balls going tight. I moan, the sound vibrating around his cockhead and the sound is echoed back to me.

I bring my hands up and manage to grab his ass, squeezing tight as I keep working the top inch or so of his cock.

He grins down at me, the look in his eyes wicked, wild. I did that. I feel like a fucking stud that I can make him want and need and feel good. He might be bigger than me, and I might have little to no chance of winning any dominance battles with him, but I can make him need. Now that goes both ways because my fucking cock is like a hammer, leaking like a faulty faucet and my balls are so tight they're about to go off at any second.

I'm not alone there, because I can see it in his eyes that he's close to coming, too. I just hope he doesn't drown me with his magical tingling come.

He pulls out suddenly, and I moan, tugging at his ass, trying to get him back in my mouth. He just shakes his head and grabs hold of his cock, jacking himself as he watches me, rocking a little, his balls sliding against my chest. I keep my hands where they are on his ass, feeling his movements in the muscles in my palms.

He holds my gaze the whole time, and I can tell the second he's about to shoot. It looks like fucking flames in the dark, smoky depths, and then his spunk splashes onto my face, hot and tingly, covering my cheeks, my mouth, and my nose, the scent of it marking me.

Marking me. Fucking hell, the concept sort of blows my mind. And my wad. I buck up, crying out as my orgasm catches me by surprise and I shoot, my come hitting my belly, my hands, and his ass. My hips jerk a few more times, aftershocks sending several more spurts out of me, and then I go limp. I feel like I've gone ten rounds with Conor McGregor, and I may never get up off this bed.

Hades leans down and licks his own come off my cheek. I still can't move, but I offer him a moan because that was hot as fuck. My cock makes a valiant attempt at showing interest, but, despite the fact that I came without a fucking touch to it, I am truly sated. For now.

"Give me five minutes and I'll be ready for round two," I tell him.

He laughs and kisses me hard. "I just might hold you to that."