Chapter 102: Intoxicated Calculations
Damon’s POV
"Here’s the room," Eve said, her voice echoing softly as she stretched her hand out toward a dark, heavy door down the secluded corridor.
I kept my grip tight around Micah’s warm, limp body as I carried him across the threshold into the room. The moment Eve flipped the wall switch, bright ambient lights flooded the space, and my jaw nearly hit the polished floor.
It was a full-blown red room. Heavy leather restraints hung from steel beams on the ceiling, iron rings were bolted directly into the walls, and an entire wall display featured various leather whips, padded cuffs, and chains gleaming under the crimson lighting.
"What the hell is this place?" I asked, my voice laced with genuine disbelief despite knowing deep down exactly what kind of room I had just stepped into.
Eve quickly turned her face away, her cheeks flushing with visible awkwardness. "I’m afraid this is the only room available on such short notice," she explained, avoiding direct eye contact with the surrounding equipment.
Sure, I shouldn’t have been surprised. This wasn’t a standard luxury hotel; it was a VIP club where wealthy clients paid millions for unfiltered indulgence. I exhaled a deep, heavy breath, walking briskly toward the massive leather bed in the center of the room and carefully setting Micah down on the mattress.
Eve stepped closer, her sharp eyes scanning Micah’s flushed face as he stirred weakly against the pillows. "I should have known he couldn’t handle his alcohol," she muttered, a rare wave of genuine guilt washing over her usually strict tone. "Since he was only on his trial shift for seven days, we didn’t have the time to train him or test his tolerance like we do with our permanent entertainers."
"It’s fine," I said, offering her a quick, reassuring smile.
Micah rolled his head onto his side, his breath coming out in soft, shallow hitches. His slender hands weakly tugged at the hem of the silk dress he was wearing, dragging the delicate fabric upward until it bunched completely around his waist. The sudden movement exposed his smooth thighs and the tiny, tight pair of boxers he was wearing underneath.
Eve saw it immediately. She cleared her throat loudly, her eyes snapping away from the bed as her posture went completely rigid. "I’ll leave you two alone," she declared abruptly, turning around and heading straight for the exit.
"Ah, wait. Can you check on George Jenson?" I called out after her.
Eve stopped dead in her tracks near the doorway, turning her head back as she raised a sharp eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
I leaned back against the edge of the bed, a dark, knowing smirk tugging at my lips. "George Jenson placed his filthy hands on Micah tonight. Don’t think for a second that Noah Miller is going to let George walk out of that room scot-free. Who knows? The guy might honestly be dead by now."
"Fuck!" Eve cussed under her breath, her usual professional composure completely shattering. She didn’t say another word; she just turned on her heel and rushed out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind her as her heels clacked down the hall.
I casually strolled over to the entrance, peeked out into the completely empty hallway to make sure nobody was lurking nearby, and smirked to myself before pulling the heavy door shut and turning the lock.
I turned back around to face the bed—and completely froze.
Micah was no longer lying flat on his back. He was sitting upright on the edge of the mattress, clumsily rubbing his eyes with his fists like a confused child waking up from a nap.
Was he actually awake?
I walked slowly back toward the bed, tilting my head sideways to try and get a better look at his face. His eyelids were still closed tight. Was he sleep-moving or something? Was the alcohol making him hallucinate in his sleep?
"Micah?" I called his name softly, taking another cautious step closer.
Micah slowly lifted his head. His eyes fluttered open, heavy and glazed over with a wild, dark intensity that I had never seen on him before. A slow, wicked smirk spread across his lips as his gaze locked onto mine.
"Ah... Damon," he slurred softly, tilting his head to the side as his eyes scanned my face.
"You’ve drunk way too much already for one night, crazy," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the strange heat rising in my chest. "You really need to lie down and rest before Noah comes in here to drag you home."
"Really?" he asked, his smirking expression deepening. "So... Noah is actually here?"
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused as to whether I should even be having a conversation with him when he clearly wasn’t in his right mind. "Uh... yes? He broke through half the doors in this club to find you."
"How long do you think he’ll take before he gets here?" Micah asked, his voice dropping into a low, mischievous whisper.
Why in the world was he asking that? Was his drunken brain actually trying to plan a miraculous escape out of the building?
"Maybe five to ten minutes," I replied, calculating Noah’s violent streak in my head. "It really depends on what kind of brutal punishment he’s handing out to George Jenson down the hall. Why do you ask?"
"Five minutes is more than enough time..." Micah murmured.
Before I could even ask him enough time for what, Micah suddenly rose onto his knees right on top of the leather mattress. With shocking speed for someone who had just downed five full glasses of strong whiskey, his hands shot out, grabbing the lapels of my jacket and violently yanking me forward until my body slammed flushed against his.
My breath hitched violently in my throat. His warm nose brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a searing shockwave of electricity straight down my spine. I let out an involuntary, ragged groan.
Fuck.
Micah’s hands loosened their grip on my jacket, sliding beneath the hem of my shirt. His warm, smooth palms glided up across my taut muscles, tracing a deliberate path over my chest until his fingers brushed directly over my sensitive nipple.
"Hmm," Micah groaned softly right into my ear, a breathless, intoxicating sound that made my pulse race out of control. His other hand slid up behind my head, entangling his slender fingers deep into my hair and pulling my head back.
I felt the burning, wet touch of his tongue drag across the base of my throat. Before I could process the raw sensation or gather a single coherent thought, Micah used his entire weight to yank me forward, shoving me flat onto my back on the mattress.
"Micah!" I gasped out his name, my heart hammering against my ribs like a sledgehammer.
He completely ignored me. He climbed over my hips, straddling my waist without a single shred of his usual shyness or hesitation. The silk dress he was wearing was now bunched all the way up around his stomach, leaving his pale chest exposed under the red ambient light. My mouth watered instantly as my eyes locked onto his delicate, pink nipples, which were hardened from the cool air in the room.
Without warning, Micah began grinding his ass directly down against my swelling bulge.
It was the exact same filthy, maddening movement he had done that night at that party, but this time, he was only wearing his paper-thin tight boxers. The thin fabric offered practically zero protection, allowing me to feel every bit of his soft, burning flesh grinding directly against my hardening shaft.
Soft, needy moans and quiet whimpers spilled continuously from his parted lips as he leaned his upper body back, whining softly while thrusting his hips back and forth. His own small, erect dick was poking directly against my stomach through our clothes every time he moved.
My sanity completely shattered. My hands reached up on instinct, grabbing his smooth hips firmly through his thin boxers.
"Hng!" Micah threw his head all the way back, tilting it to the side as he bit down hard on his lower lip to stifle another loud moan.
Fuck. He looked so fucking hot. He looked completely undone, entirely driven by pure, unfiltered alcohol courage.
I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. I sat up slightly on the bed, latching both of my hands tightly around his narrow waist, shifting my own hips upward to actively match his grinding movements. A dark, dangerous thought raced through my mind: Maybe I should just tear his boxers off right now, strip off my own pants, and fuck him hard on this leather bed until he couldn’t speak.
But what if Noah finished with George early? What if my captain walked through that door right now and caught us in the most awkward, compromising position imaginable?
I needed to end this as soon as humanly possible before Noah arrived and—
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" a lethal, booming voice suddenly barked from the open doorway.
I froze dead in my tracks, every single muscle in my body locking up in absolute terror.
Micah, however, didn’t stop for a single second. He kept rolling his hips, arching his back, and riding my lap like he hadn’t heard a single thing. Oh thank God... he actually didn’t stop.
I turned my head toward the entrance, my eyes widening in pure horror. Noah was standing right there in the doorway. In his right hand, he was holding his solid titanium black card—and dark crimson blood was actively dripping off the sharp metallic edge, splattering onto the floor beneath his boots.
Did he... did he actually use a membership card to slice George Jenson open?! Was he going to slaughter me next?!
"Oh fuck! Damon!" Micah moaned out loud, his body shivering as he continued to rub himself aggressively against my crotch.
I immediately slammed my open palm over Micah’s mouth, muffling his loud, scandalous cries. This is NOT the right time, Micah! Holy shit!
Noah stepped fully into the room, shutting the heavy door behind him with a quiet, terrifying click. I desperately wanted to shove Micah off my lap, leap off the bed, and sprint for the nearest exit, but I physically couldn’t move. I was so insanely close to cumming that my entire lower body was trembling with overwhelming lust.
As soon as Noah reached the side of the bed, Micah seemed to finally sense his terrifying presence. He slowly turned his head to look up at Noah.
Instead of panicking, Micah grinned wildly, biting down on his swollen lower lip with dark, intoxicated charm.
"You’re finally here, Noah," Micah slurred softly, his heavy eyes flashing with mischief before he slowly turned his head back down to look at me. "Seems your calculation was wrong, Damon. He took three minutes and forty-eight seconds."
My brain completely short-circuited. How the hell was he calculating the exact time in his head while grinding his ass on my dick?!
Noah’s brows furrowed in deep confusion as he glared down at the two of us. "Calculation for what?"
Before I could open my mouth to explain or beg for my life, Micah reached out, grabbing Noah firmly by his blood-splattered leather collar.
"You don’t need to know," Micah whispered playfully.
He yanked Noah down with sudden, unbelievable strength, crashing his lips directly onto Noah’s mouth right in front of my eyes.
My jaw dropped and seeing the two of them kissing, I came hard on my pants.