Free Birthday Licks by VJ Summers Page A

Didn’t even remotely fit Ryan’s
pre-conceived notion of a sexual Dom.
    He let his gaze flit from one man to the other. Were they
partners? A Dom and sub taking a break from play, or warming up with a drink
before scary dude stripped hottie naked and whipped his ass?
    Hottie raised an eyebrow and Ryan’s cock practically burst
the zipper of his cargos. Nope. There was nothing submissive in that look.
    “I think he likes you.”
    Ryan dragged his eyes from hottie. Scary dude had slid to
the edge of his seat, legs spread wide to showcase the bulge growing between
them. That uncomfortable, squirmy sensation slithered through his stomach
again. The idea of that man touching him… Well, Ryan might be interested in
someone getting a little bossy with him during sex, but he had the feeling that
scary dude wouldn’t stop at a little. Or even at merely bossy.
    “Shut up, Vincent.”
    Oh. Wow. When hottie wasn’t grunting and growling, he had a
voice like suede. A little rough. A little smooth. Ryan practically felt it rub
over his skin.
    Scary dude—Vincent—slid even further forward on his chair.
Ryan caught the motion in his peripheral vision. But he didn’t turn to look. He
couldn’t. He was well and truly captured by those dark eyes. Hottie was giving
him a look every bit as speculative as Vincent had, but the squirmy feeling he provoked was a lot lower than his gut, and uncomfortable in a whole different
way. Ryan shifted as his cock got even harder and his nuts began to tingle.
    “Lighten up, Thomas.” Vincent reached out and ran a rough
hand through Ryan’s hair, startling him. He jerked back instinctively, unnerved
by the thrill of dread, and the just plain thrill, that shot through him as
Vincent pulled. When he turned back to the silver-haired Dom with a scowl,
Vincent smirked.
    “A feisty one. And not very well trained.” Vincent gave a
final tug and then patted his cheek. Confusion swirled through Ryan. Something
in the man’s touch, some assumption that he had the right to touch, that
Ryan’s body was his to use, spoke to the place in Ryan’s soul that had always
ached through sex, the place that had gone tense with anticipation when Tristan
described The Iron Mask, the men and women who played there.
    Something was there, just beyond Ryan’s reach. Scary dude’s
touch wasn’t quite right, but it was the closest Ryan had come so far.
    “Not trained at all, I think.” Hottie’s—Thomas’—voice jerked
Ryan’s attention back front and center. Thomas reached out and cupped his chin,
all the authority of Vincent’s touch, but tempered with a hint of gentleness
that melted the knot of nerves in Ryan’s gut.
    “Is that it, pretty thing? You haven’t any training?” Ryan’s
attention whipped back to Vincent, though his eyes remained caught by Thomas’
mesmerizing stare.
    He was a little dizzy. The tequila, the anticipation, that
uneasy feeling he got under Vincent’s pale eyes and the inexplicable safety he
felt in Thomas’ touch left him lightheaded and confused.
    “Who’s your Master, boy?” The edge of command in Thomas’
voice was every bit as irresistible as Vincent’s, but rather than making Ryan
want to pull away, it drew him closer.
    “No Master,” he managed, though his tongue tangled on the
words. Well, that was embarrassing. He drew himself up. “And I’m not a boy.”
    That stern mouth quirked at the corner, and Thomas shot an
amused glance toward Vincent.
    “Nope. Not trained at all.” He turned back to Ryan. “You’re
a submissive, beautiful. A young and pretty one.” He made a sweeping gesture,
seeming to indicate the people wandering around the club, gyrating on the floor
and…yes, actually fucking in dark corners. “You’re not a bear or a leather
daddy. You’re a boy. It’s a descriptor, not an assessment of your age or
maturity.” He was still cupping Ryan’s chin, and now he stroked his thumb over
Ryan’s lips. Ryan shivered and resisted the urge to