“My turn.”

Micah braced himself for what was to come next, but he was shocked when before the man could so much as grab his shot glass, he was being tugged backward so harshly by the collar of his shirt that he nearly lost his balance and went tumbling to the club floor.

Within moments, another man filled his space, and Micah could only watch, stunned, as familiar blue eyes drilled into his before the shot of tequila was being tipped back.

Then there were hands on his waist, so warm that the fingers that slipped under his shirt and gripped onto skin felt like brands. A hot tongue lapped at his neck, gathering the salt there before continuing its ministrations on his collar bone, prickly stubble rubbing against his skin as teeth scraped at him.

Micah’s alcohol-logged brain couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

One second, he’d resigned himself to letting a stranger lick the salt from his neck, and the next Damon was tongue-fucking his collar bone in the middle of the club.

It was positively indecent.

Also, thrilling.

Micah’s cock, which hadn’t so much as twitched when he’d been sucking the salt off the other man’s neck, was suddenly rock hard against the zipper of his jeans. It was only Damon’s grip on his hips keeping him in place that stopped him from doing something embarrassing like trying to dry hump the man.

When Damon pulled away, Micah had the pleasure of seeing wicked satisfaction flash in his eyes as he stared at the juncture of Micah’s neck and shoulder, skin undoubtedly red from beard burn and the borderline vicious tongue-assault.

When Damon’s eyes rose from the marked-up skin to meet Micah’s gaze, however, his entire countenance darkened, an angry scowl pulling at his mouth.

It did absolutely nothing to discourage Micah’s hard-on.

“Where have you been?” the man demanded gruffly. “I’ve looked all over for you.”

Micah was too shell-shocked by what had just happened to respond to the man’s question. He stood there, mouth agape like an idiot, and stared.

That was not the case for the poor man whose drink Damon had just stolen. “What the fuck, man? I paid for that shot!”

Damon didn’t even glance in the guy’s direction, his eyes still drilling holes into Micah’s. “I assume this covers it,” he said coolly, sliding a handful of bills across the counter.

Micah couldn’t see what they were, but by the way the man’s eyes widened in disbelief and quickly snatched them up, they probably more than covered it. “Uh, yeah.” The man shot Micah a guilty look over Damon’s shoulder, an apology in his eyes even as he shrugged and backed away, clearly intending on taking the money and fucking off. “It’s all yours man,” he called before disappearing into the crowd.

Coward.

“Yes, he is,” Damon agreed, voice so soft and silky Micah wasn’t sure if he imagined it in the roar of the music.

Regardless, it didn’t take Micah long to break under the penetrating, judgmental blue of Damon’s eyes. “I should- I should arrest you,” Micah said, making sure to empathize his point by jabbing a finger into Damon’s sternum.