Soul Bonds

Mitchell sat at the bar and nursed his scotch. All around him, music pulsed and men moved in and out of the shadows. The dance floor seethed with bodies. Couples danced, some with tentative touches and gentle caresses, while others gyrated, their hips in sync with the rhythm of the pounding bass. Still, some danced alone, feeling the freedom of movement and no necessity for a partner.

What the hell am I doing here?

He wasn't going to pick up anyone. Not tonight. Not any night. He'd sworn off the fast life; it was far too dangerous.

Who was he kidding? He was the king of denial.

Crown me.

Mitchell scanned the men.

Even if he saw someone he liked, and he hadn't in a very long time, he wouldn't break his rule and take anyone home. It wasn't safe. There was no telling whom he might bring home. Time was he only worried about serial killers, but these days, he had to deal with gay bashers.

Besides, he really hated that awkward parting in the morning. Should he serve breakfast or just put the guy out? A kiss goodbye, or lie and tell him he'd call?

A quick blowjob in the back rooms of the bar would avoid all that trouble.

If he was looking. And he wasn't.

His gaze raked over several younger men standing at the end of the bar. Tight leather snugged over tight asses, dark liner around their hungry eyes.

He liked younger, but tonight there wasn't a flicker of arousal from between his legs. Not even half-mast, much less fully flying the colors. What was wrong with him? There were some very good-looking men here tonight and if he put forth the effort, he could pick up one of them and head to the back.

He just couldn't stand another empty fuck.



Sammi leaned against the wall of the bar and closed his eyes. Opening his mind, he listened. The music faded away and indistinct voices floated in blackness, pieces of soft conversations, snips of laughter, a few suggestive words, all faint whispers in the night. All he had to do was pick one out, focus on it, and make his move.

What the hell am I doing here?

Sammi jumped as the words shouted in his mind. His eyes flew open and Sammi scanned the darkened room for the man who'd thought them. Like the wicked, sharp blade of his knife, the voice had sliced through all the chatter like butter and set his body quivering and brought his cock to rigid attention.

I'm better off alone.

Effortlessly, he locked onto a man sitting at the bar. It had never been that easy before. Sammi's heart hammered at the chance he'd found him. The one. His soul bond. He shook his head, took a deep breath to quell the excitement, and stared at the man whose voice had risen above all the others, pushing them into nothing more than background noise, mere static on the constant radio that played in Sammi's head.

Long legs clad in faded blue jeans. A white T-shirt peeked from under a brown leather jacket. Loafers, no socks. Dark wavy hair, broad shoulders. Early thirties.

Sammi drew closer, weaved in and out of the gyrating dancers as he crossed the dance floor. Unable, unwilling, to take his eyes off the man.



A young man slid onto the chair next to Mitchell. Male musk enveloped Mitchell, as if the guy were shooting off pheromones meant for him alone. Nice.

The bartender walked over. "What can I get you?"

"I'll have what he's drinking and put it on his tab." A soft, yet damned sexy, voice filled Mitchell's ears, shot through his body, and landed in his cock.

He turned to look at the man who'd given him an instant hard-on.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "That okay?"

"Yeah. It's fine," Mitchell said without taking his eyes off the stranger.

The young man faced him, pushed the long forelock of straight dark hair from his eyes and their gazes locked. As if he'd leaned too far over the top rail of a skyscraper, Mitchell plummeted into endless dark eyes. Aware of the sudden pounding of his heart and the tightness of his jeans, he swallowed, afraid to speak. Afraid he'd chase away this remarkable creature.

He was the sweetest thing Mitchell had seen in a long time.

"You think I'm the best thing you've seen in a while." He offered a soft smile and placed his hand on Mitchell's thigh. The gentle touch seared him and he caught fire.

"Yeah." Mitchell gave a grunt.

His heat-filled gaze raked over the man. Young, maybe mid-twenties, lean but muscled. Despite the dead sexy mop of bangs that fell over his face, his hair was cut short on the sides and back.

What did Mitchell's rules have to say about this?

Damn, he couldn't recall a single one, but he knew he'd be breaking most of them before the sun rose. "What else am I thinking?"

"That you want to break all your rules with me."

Mitchell's foot slipped off the rung. Almost falling off the chair, he reached for the edge of the bar to hold himself upright. How the hell did this guy know what he was thinking?

"Look, I don't know what game you're playing, but..." Mitchell growled, his body tensing along with his fists.

"No game." He shook his head and the bangs swayed, giving Mitchell a peek at those eyes again. "Are you always such a hard ass?"

Placing his knees between Mitchell's, he leaned closer and laid his smaller hand over Mitchell's tight fist. It relaxed beneath the touch like butter on a summer day. The guy's other hand slid along Mitchell's thigh, trailing fire.

Stopping where thigh met hip, he glanced down between Mitchell's legs. "This is the only thing that should be hard." His thumb brushed over the lump in Mitchell's too-tight jeans.

Mitchell's cock twitched in happy greeting to the hand that touched it, and his balls pulled in so tight he thought they'd disappear. Not in a bad way. But in a way that said oh yeah, this would be a fuck he'd never forget. A fuck he wanted more than anything on earth. More than his next breath. And he wanted it right now.

"Let's go to your place." That voice sent delighted shivers down Mitchell's spine. Damn, he was fucking helpless against it.

"What's your name?" He didn't know what else to say.

"Sammi. What's yours?"

"Mitchell."

"Well, Mitchell," Sammi purred as he slid off the chair and into the space directly in front of Mitchell. Mitchell stood, rising a head taller than Sammi. Looking down into liquid brown eyes, Mitchell grabbed the young man's narrow hips, pulled him to his body, and ground his hard-on against Sammi's belly. "I think we're on the same wavelength," Sammi finished as he tilted his head back and offered his lips.

"Yeah." Mitchell leaned down, took the kiss, and broke his rule about not kissing strange men he met at bars. Soft at first, then as Sammi's tongue flicked against his lips to ask for admittance, Mitchell opened to him. They deepened the kiss.

Damn, Sammi was sinfully delicious, a blend of vanilla and sugar cookies with a chocolate aftertaste. What would his skin taste like? Or his cock? A firestorm erupted inside Mitchell. He didn't want to wait until he got Sammi home to find out. He'd do him against the bar right now if he could.

This was insane.

He wanted Sammi and Sammi wanted him. That message was coming through to Mitchell loud and clear, as if Sammi had spoken the words. Of all the men the guy could have, and Mitchell knew Sammi could take his pick, he'd picked him. Why was he so damned lucky?

"You're the only man in this place worth a damn," Sammi answered Mitchell's doubts. "Let's get out of here."

"Oh, yeah."

Fuck. There went the rule about bringing strangers home. Mitchell dug into his pocket and tossed a twenty on the bar. Taking Sammi's hand, he led the way to the door, pulled it open, and stepped out, towing Sammi by the hand behind him.

"I live just up the street and around the corner."