Page 113 of Godless Saints

The elevator attendant hit the penthouse button. That inked bastard was why I wasn’t in the penthouse. Fucking hell.

We finally reached the top floor.

He dragged me inside and tipped the elevator attendant a stupid amount. Fuck. Was he richer than me? I hated that. It made me feel… emasculated. Emasculated. That was the fucking word.

The balcony opened straight to the ocean. Moonlight on the water. Trap music still thumping from the beach, distant and annoying. Suddenly, he was right in front of me.

God. How long had he been staring?

His arm locked around my waist. Sobering up would make me push him off. Probably.

He pulled me in. His other hand gripped my jaw and his mouth crashed into mine. I kissed him back before my brain caught up. Leaning in. Lips soft. Then tongue. I couldn’t breathe. He devoured me. His hand slid down and palmed my ass. I opened for him. Let him tongue-fuck my mouth. Whiskey on his tongue. I probably tasted like fucking bath soap.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard against my mouth. His eyes locked on mine. “You said you’re not fucking gay.” His thumb shoved down hard on my bottom lip, forcing my mouth open. “Look at you. Spoiled little rich boy pretending he’s straight while your cock leaks for a stranger pinning you down. So be honest, prince…” He smirked. “You really want me to stop?”

I shook my head.

He kissed me again.

We stumbled toward the bedroom. My back hit the mattress.

One second drunk. The next, stone-cold sober. I was drunk in a stranger’s hotel room. I’d never kissed a guy before. Fuck. I needed to leave. Before he could follow I shoved him off and headed for the door.

“I can’t do this.” I slammed straight into the doorframe and grunted. Fuck. When did that get there? Now I was on the floor.

He moved over me. “Careful, prince. Don’t hurt that pretty face.” He reached down. I slapped him hard across the cheek.

“Don’t fucking touch me. I’m not gay.”

He touched his cheek. A smile tugged at his mouth. His pupils widened. Turned on by it. What the fuck was wrong with him.

“Alright, alright.” He raised his hands and backed off. He went to the kitchen, poured himself another drink, then grabbed a glass, filled it with ice and water, and held it out to me.

“Drink this.”

I stared at the glass. Then at him. Still on the floor. I didn’t want to take it.

He shook the glass once. “Come on. It’s just water, prince. Sober you up. Clear your head. Then you can go back to being straight and all that. I’m not drugging you.”

I scoffed and took the water. I downed it in one go and shoved the empty glass at him. Tried to stand. Everything hazy. The kiss had cut through the alcohol too fast. I wanted to kiss him again. I didn’t want sex with him. Well. I did. But I didn’t. Too many questions. He was too fucking confident. It made me feel small.

“You can stay here tonight. You’re already in this hotel. Front desk knew your name… Betty White and all. I want you to stay. I want to know who you are.”

“Fuck no. I’m never telling you who I am. You’re covered in ink and clearly loaded. What, crime?” I spat it. Sometimes my own venom surprised me. His eyes flickered. Then nothing. Why the fuck did I care if I hurt him. I didn’t.

“Ha. So you do want to know who I am. My money, the ink… makes you think criminal?”

“No. That’s not what I meant. I don’t care who you are. Couldn’t care less. Never seeing you again would be a fucking win.”

“Okay. Want me to call the elevator for you, prince?”

I glanced toward the elevator. Leave now and then what? I was already done with New York. Not exactly thrilled about Evermourne either. The thought alone stressed me the fuck out.

Wait. Where did he go?

I looked around. The balcony doors stood open. He was already out there. I grabbed the frame to stand. Swayed the whole way over.

He sat staring at the ocean. Strobes flashing behind him, people still wild on the beach. He looked… lonely. I dropped down next to him. Our shoulders bumped.