Why We Fight (At First Sight 4)

From an outside perspective, we must have looked like the gayest Renaissance painting: Nana and Larry and Matty had their hands on their cheeks, looking shocked. Charlie and Robert were craning their necks toward us. The Queen was reaching toward me, the feathers bouncing on her shoulders. The King was rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. Paul and Vince were looking at each other with sex face. Jeremy was staring in horror at the phone on the ground.

And I was on my way to having a terrifically terrifying orgasm in front of people I considered to be my family.

I stood abruptly, barely in control of my hips. I gasped as the vibrations continued. Jeremy looked slowly up at me, the horror on his face increasing until I thought he was going to pass out right then and there.

“It won’t turn off,” I hissed at him. “What did you do?”

“What! I didn’t do anything! This is all your fault. You put it up there—” His eyes widened as he coughed roughly. “I mean, I have no idea what we’re talking about.”

“Oh darn,” Nana said. “I was about to win the game.”

I looked around in a panic, trying to find an escape route. For a second I thought about going over the balcony, but I would probably end up only getting halfway over before I started rutting against the railing.

It was then my savior came for me, swift and true.

A hand closed tightly around my arm, pulling me toward the door. “Paul,” Helena snapped over her shoulder, feathers trailing behind her. “Come with us. Now.”

Paul didn’t even question it. He followed us as we reached the door. I heard Jeremy start to follow, but Helena shot him a look that told him it would be in his best interest if he stayed right where he was if he wanted to live a long and fruitful life. Apparently he seemed to decide to take the chance, but Vince stopped him.

I was groaning in pleasure as Helena led me down the stairs.

“What the hell is happening to him?” Paul said from behind us.

“Not now,” Helena said.

She burst through the door into the bar. The bouncer looked at her questioningly. She ignored him as she snarled at people to get the hell out of her way. The crowd parted immediately, and I wanted to tell her she was a gay Moses, but the egg felt like it was right near my damn prostate, and all that came out of my mouth was a long moan that sounded like I was either dying or getting royally fucked.

It felt like both.

“Oh my god,” Paul said, sounding scandalized. “I never want to hear you make that sound again. What the hell is wrong with you!”

I glared at him over my shoulder and was ready to tell him off, but all that came out was “Yessssssss, Paul.”

He paled. “Oh no,” he whispered. “Sex face.”

We went out the back door of the bar to the patio, Helena shouting at everyone to get the fuck out of her way. I didn’t know what they thought was happening. There was a furious drag queen screaming at them, dragging someone who looked like they were having a seizure, followed by a man who seemed to want to be anywhere else.

All in all, not one of my better nights.

We were off the patio and out the back of Jack It. Sandy went to the small trailer sitting behind the bar and threw open the door, pulling me up inside.

Mike, the oily owner of Jack It, looked up at us in surprise from behind his desk. To make matters worse, there was a twink on his knees in front of him, and Mike didn’t seem to be wearing pants.

And I was still turned on.

“Helena,” Mike said angrily as the twink fled, lips swollen for reasons I never wanted to think about again. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Pull up your pants and get the fuck out,” Helena growled at him. “You have five seconds.”

“Now see here—”

“Four seconds.”

“I don’t—”

“Three seconds.”

Mike pulled up his pants, and I tried to keep from groaning, but I couldn’t stop.