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  Everything He Wants

  Copyright © 2013 by Megan Slayer

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-618-2

  Cover art by Fiona Jayde

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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  www.decadentpublishing.com

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  Also by Megan Slayer

  Saving Sam

  Writing as Wendi Zwaduk

  One More Night

  Everything He Wants

  A 1Night Stand Story

  By

  Megan Slayer

  ~Dedication~

  Flash—thanks for finding the picture and starting the wheels turning.

  VN, HL, SB, JPF—for having fun with the boys.

  JPZ—hopefully I stay everything you want.

  Chapter One

  “You do realize you’ve got to settle down sooner or later?”

  Trace held the phone from his ear and he rolled his eyes as if she could see him. Trust his twin sister, Joya, to know everything, even over the telephone. He sighed, but she continued talking, obviously ignoring his frustration.

  “You can’t do the single thing forever.” She groaned. “Are you even listening to me? You aren’t saying a word.”

  “I can swing the single life as long as I want.” He drummed his fingers beside his laptop. “Besides, you don’t know everything.”

  “Oh no?”

  He hated when she used her high-pitched, sister-knows-best voice. “Besides pissing me off with the subscription to not one, but three dating sites, you underestimate your dear older brother.” And make me want to rip my hair out.

  “It’s not hard, and you’re only older by three minutes.” She snorted. “You’ve never dated the same guy for more than a month. Two is stretching things.”

  “Bullshit,” he muttered halfheartedly and sagged in his seat. His sister knew him too damn well. Screw it. He had a plan. “I’ve got a blind date. Tonight.”

  The line went dead. Or she’d dropped over. One of the two. He grinned and continued, “I signed up for Madame Eve’s 1Night Stand service. She worked wonders for one of my friends at the airport. He’s thrilled. Anyway, I signed up and she sent the email tonight.”

  “The email?” Another snort. “This chick works through email? You’ve got to be kidding me. You can’t trust an email, T.”

  “You know everything and nothing at the same time. Madame Eve works. I promise. She sent me the magic email telling me when and where I’ll find my heart’s delight.” He placed the phone on the bed and switched it to speaker, bringing up the email at the same time. Tonight is the night. I feel it.” He read the words again. You will find your heart’s desire. How could Madame Eve be wrong?

  “Oh.” Joya stayed quiet for a long time. “Cool.”

  “You doubted I could find a date?” He sat back on the bed and crossed his ankles. “I’m not a dumb kid.”

  “Nope, but I feel like I have to pick up after your various disasters. Your track record still stinks.”

  Fuck. Pegged again. He stared at his socks. Dingy, gray and in need of being thrown out...just like his life. Picking an outfit for work? Not a problem. Putting together something reasonable for a controller meeting? Piece of cake. Getting his love life in order? Mission impossible. He touched the polished moonstone he wore on the thin strip of leather around his neck. This time, things would be different. He’d find a guy worthy of sticking with, and they’d make a life together. He hoped.

  You will find your heart’s desire.

  “Are you listening to me?” Joya crabbed.

  “Maybe I’m trying a different course, J. You never know. I might be listening to you when you preach at me to settle down.” Not really, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  “You are not.”

  He shrugged. “You’re right. I tune you out. But I am tired of being alone.”

  “Good luck then, Trace. I’m rooting for you. I’ve got to go. Stacey’s here for our run.” She clicked off the line, leaving him in silence.

  “Yeah.” He closed his laptop. “Here’s to me.” He pressed the buttons on his phone to power saving mode and stared at his closet. Eve had also told him to wear something yellow. Yellow? His heart raced. Four coat racks full of dress clothes, but not much for clubbing. What were the options? Too bright and the look screamed, needy. Too dull and the guy would think the same thing—boring. Damn it. He rubbed his clammy palms on his jeans legs. What to wear? And who would he be seeing?

  He’d asked for a nice guy. One who liked classic rock and shopping at thrift stores, but wasn’t self-absorbed or grungy. Someone who could make him laugh, hold him when he cried, and be his friend no matter what. He thought about what he’d written on his form. Jeremy Landon. The guy featured prominently in his fantasies. He’d begged Madame Eve to hook them up.

  A shiver ran up his spine. He’d run into Jeremy twice, and sparks flew each time. The first time they’d met, Jeremy had tripped down the stairs leaving the hockey game and landed in Trace’s arms. Blushed the prettiest shade of red. They talked and shared highlights of the game and promised to call each other. When he got home he couldn’t find the slip of paper in his pocket. No number meant no contact. He chuckled to himself. How lucky could he be to find a guy who fit into his preferences for a sub, too? Damn lucky. But what was the chance Jeremy would be his date?

  Fuck.

  Trace pictured his crush and shivered. Tall with blond hair, tipped in vibrant green. Tattoos down both arms, and a piercing in his lip. Was Jeremy pierced anywhere else? Oh, and the perpetual ripped-jeans look. The guy screamed free-spirited rebel.

  Trace crossed the room and yanked all the yellow clothes he owned out of the closet. “Too bright, too tacky.” He threw a vintage paisley button-down on the floor. “Too...much.” He scrubbed his hands over his face then glanced at the poster of Cary Grant on the wall. What would he wear? Cary Grant went for simple and elegant. Clubbing didn’t jive with elegance, but simple w
orked.

  “Simple and casual.” He found what he wanted—a form-fitting yellow T-shirt he’d forgotten about. Without looking tacky, it had the right amount of thin spots designed into it to give glimpses of his body. “Perfect.” Paired with his frayed jeans, he’d rock the club.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His pulse fluttered. “Tonight, I will make a statement and get my man.”

  Whoever he is.

  Jeremy sat in the back seat of the cab and swayed forward as it came to a quick stop opposite Club Ramrod. What a crazy name for a club. Then again, what a crazy place to meet his date. He checked the messages on his phone one more time. Sure enough, the same email from Madame Eve popped up.

  Your date awaits you at Club Ramrod, located next to the Mason Players Club Hotel. Look for yellow by the bar and you will find your heart’s delight. Tell the bouncer Eve sent you.

  He sighed and paid the driver with a shaky hand. His mind wouldn’t stop racing. What the hell did I get myself into? Sure, the club scene worked for him, but he hated the grind. Hated the clawing bodies and hangers-on. Crossing the street, he took his place in line. Maybe no one would recognize him. Finally reaching the club entrance, he dropped Madame Eve’s name to the bouncer.

  The hulking man nodded and shuffled him to the bar. “Don’t cause a fight.”

  Don’t cause a fight? Did he look like the type to cause trouble? Well, I did change my hair from green to blue tips. Jeremy snorted. Whatever. He scanned the crowd in the massive black and white bar. Men talked, laughed and cuddled, others sat on their lover’s laps. At the far end, he spotted a flash of yellow. His heart pounded faster and his mouth went bone-dry.

  “No fucking way,” he murmured, nibbling on his lip piercing.

  Trace Robeson, the man who featured in every one of his naughty fantasies, clutched a beer and hooked his thumb in his jean’s front pocket. The man oozed classy sex. A faded T-shirt cradled his body like a second skin, giving teasing glimpses at the chiseled flesh underneath. His ripped jeans cupped and outlined his package.

  Jeremy wobbled on his feet and thanked the gods, or Madame Eve, or whoever, for granting him his wish, and strode across the club. Making eye contact with Trace, he grinned.

  “Hey, man. Good seeing you here.” Trace offered his hand.

  “Yeah. It’s nice to see a friendly face.” Jeremy gestured the bartender for a beer. “I’m here to meet my destiny.”

  “Are you....” Trace didn’t finish.

  “Your date?” Jeremy replied. “I’m looking for a man in yellow. Don’t see too many others rocking that color, so….” Christ, he sounded so lame.

  “I was told my date would find me.” Trace matched his smile. “Want to dance?”

  “Yeah.” They threaded through the crowd. Gyrating bodies pulsed with the heavy beat, pushing him and Trace together. Trace cuddled up behind him and draped his arms around Jeremy’s torso, holding his hips and kissing the back of his neck. Each touch, each caress, ignited more sparks of desire. He couldn’t breathe, but refused to slow down. Dressed in casual wear, Trace personified sex. The jeans molded to his legs and the shirt showcased the muscles of his chest. Yum.

  The more he moved with Trace, the more he wanted to go to the back room and fuck him.

  “You’re so badass.” Trace’s words tickled in his ear. “Rough around the edges and sexy.”

  Lust flowed through his veins. Oh, how little Trace knew about him. Badass on the outside, but a softie behind closed doors.

  Other people pushed and knocked into them while they danced to the blistering techno beat. Jeremy turned and pressed chest-to-chest, and groin-to-groin, with Trace.

  “We need a room.” He tugged him to the far end of the expansive bar. A line of private rooms lined the wall. A green light over the door of the room at the end indicated it was free. “This one.”

  They sprinted toward it and rushed in. The private space, no bigger than a glorified closet, featured bright light and three walls of mirrors.

  Jeremy locked the door. “I want you to want me.” Fuck in a straw basket, what a damn cliché! “I mean....”

  Before he could rephrase, Trace pinned him to the wall. “I do.” He leaned in close, his mouth a whisper away. “Very much I do.” He feasted on his mouth and licked the ring on his lip. “Never kissed a guy with a piercing.” His fingers wandered down and pinched his chest through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, putting pressure on the barbell in his nipple. His eyes widened and he toyed with the balls at the end of the stud. “This is hot.” Trace tugged lightly on the barbell. “Good?”

  “Yeah.” A moan bubbled in his throat. He writhed under Trace’s touch. “More,” he groaned.

  “You got it.” Trace chuckled and slid to his knees, popping the button on Jeremy’s jeans. The denim parted and his cock strained against the cotton of his boxer briefs.

  “Looks like you’re hard for me.” Trace palmed his dick. “So hot.”

  Open-mouthed kisses rained down on his erection and stole Jeremy’s breath. He slapped the wall and panted. “Take me in.” He arched his back, offering his cock. Taking control of the situation didn’t suit him, but being with Trace sure did.

  With a wide grin, Trace glanced up at Jeremy. His dark eyes shone. Easing his cock and balls from the slit in his underwear, Trace flicked his tongue over the blunt head. Electricity zapped Jeremy and he jolted. Being with Trace was better than a new tat and sexier than he ever imagined.

  “Fuck.” He threaded his fingers through Trace’s hair and tugged. It’d been more than a month since he’d had head, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Trace. His balls ached, his skin prickled and he had to brace against the wall for support.

  “I won’t let you fall.” Trace gripped the base of his prick and opened his mouth to take Jeremy in.

  A man as pretty as Trace shouldn’t be on his knees—he should be commanding the situation. Or posing for him. Oh, hell, yeah. He wanted Trace nude and posing for one of his portraits.

  The heat, combined with the gentle touch and the mental image of the tanned man naked, sent Jeremy to the edge. Flutters started low in his belly and his blood thumped in his ears. His legs trembled. Christ. Trace had barely begun to mouth-fuck him. Jeremy writhed and pumped. “This won’t last long.”

  Trace pulled away. “Good, because I want you.”

  Those two words tipped Jeremy the rest of the way into ecstasy. He jerked forward and spurted down Trace’s throat. From head to toe, he wobbled. The throbbing music underscored their frantic actions and he loved it.

  Rising, Trace embraced him, holding him up. “So good.” He kissed him and added, “You taste like honey. The private room here is fun, but I can’t wait to take this upstairs. Come with me?”

  Jeremy stuffed his flaccid dick back into his jeans. “Yeah.” Thank God for the blow job, no matter how short. He’d needed the quickie to gather his wits.

  Trace led him back onto the main floor. “I don’t want to dance, do you?”

  Jeremy shook his head. What else could he say? He wanted to explore the dips and valleys of Trace.

  A huge hand appeared on Trace’s shoulder and yanked him backward.

  “What the hell?” Jeremy scowled. “Too many people in here.” He turned around to see a big guy pulling Trace away. “Oh, hell no.” He snatched Trace’s hand. He wasn’t letting his lover go without a fight.

  “Where have you been?” The man with the meaty fingers gave Trace a shake and tossed a glare toward Jeremy. “And who the hell is this?” His lip curled in a sneer and sweat slid down his temple. “Huh?”

  “My date.” Trace said. “Find a tree and climb it, Yancy.” Facing Jeremy, he squeezed his hand and marched away.

  “Who was that?” Jeremy dreaded the answer, but needed to know. Yes, he self-medicated with the quickies he’d had before, but Trace definitely wasn’t just a means to salve his wounded soul.

  “Nobody to worry about.” Trace kept moving through
the crowd.

  “He’s the past?”

  “A mistake I learned from,” Trace said in his ear. “But you’re not a mistake. You’re just what I wanted.”

  “So are you.” Jeremy pulled him to a halt, threw his arms around his neck and kissed him. The sizzling connection melted every synapse in his brain. He moaned into Trace’s mouth and his cock responded, thickening behind his zipper.

  Fuck. They needed to find the closest bedroom.

  “Jesus.” Trace groaned and rested his forehead on Jeremy’s. “I like it.” The bulge behind his fly bumped Jeremy’s and a fresh wave of desire spiraled through him. “We should take this upstairs.”

  Jeremy couldn’t agree more. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter Two

  Holy shit. Trace bit back the whoop building in his throat as he palmed his pants pocket for the key to the room he’d reserved earlier on a whim. Next on the agenda: sex with his tattooed stud.

  “Let’s go.” Lacing his fingers with Jeremy’s, he wove through the crowd.

  Yancy glared at him from the bar, but even the threat of his ex being there didn’t slow him down. Hell, nothing would break his high spirits. Not tonight. Then again, he couldn’t believe Yancy had butted in. The fucktard knew they’d never have sex, or anything else, again. Not when he’d threatened to beat the shit out of Trace the last time he’d seen him.

  Trace and Jeremy sprinted through the lobby of the Club Ramrod to the adjacent Mason Players Club Hotel. He fished the card from his pants and slipped it into the magnetic key slot.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To my room.” Trace squeezed Jeremy’s hand. “For the rest of our date.”

  “Nice.” He nibbled on the ring piercing his lip.

  People strolled behind them, milling around the lobby. None of them mattered but Jeremy. Once the elevator doors closed, Trace pounced, shoving him against the wall and planting another deep kiss on him. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth.