“You shouldn’t have done it,” he managed—slurred out, barely able to focus his gaze on the guy.
“Done what?” Arnold said innocently, his hand creeping up Nate’s thigh and stroking his half-hard cock. Nausea and arousal hit Nate at once in equal measure. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything. It felt like his limbs weighed a ton.
“You don’t want to do this,” Nate heard himself slur out. “I’m not here alone.”
Arnold glanced around. “I’ve been watching you. I haven’t seen you with anyone.”
Fuck, where was Maya when he needed her?
“Then you’re an idiot,” Nate said, finally forcing his limbs to move. “Fuck off, dude.” He staggered away from the bar, his unfocused gaze trying and failing to find his sister. He could feel Arnold following him but not attempting to touch him, probably waiting for the right opportunity. Nate considered his options, but there weren’t many. Maya had the car keys and he couldn’t drive in this state anyway. He could try to call his sister, but she was unlikely to hear him over the loud music. He needed to find a quieter place. A quieter, safer place.
He staggered into the men’s room, and to his relief, there were two guys there, pissing at the urinals. Arnold followed him inside but couldn’t grab him without attracting unwanted attention.
Nate got into the nearest bathroom stall and locked the door with shaking fingers, his cock uncomfortably hard.
Then he pushed the toilet lid down and sank onto the seat. Finding his sister’s number, he pressed Call.
The door rattled.
Gripping his phone harder, Nate waited, silently begging Maya to pick up. She would never let him live it down if she had to save him from some creep, but he had no other options. Calling anyone else would be so damn humiliating. He was a grown man. He shouldn’t need rescuing.
“I’m calling the police,” Nate said loudly. “So fucking leave before they get here.”
Arnold—or whatever the fucker’s name was—snorted. “Right. Guys like you never call the police. Come on now, get out, stop being a drama queen. I saw how you were looking at me. We can have fun.”
It turned Nate’s stomach to learn that he wasn’t the asshole’s first victim. The worst part was, what Arnold said really made sense: he probably really got away with this shit if the guys he coerced were too embarrassed to admit they were being molested by another man. Toxic masculinity was the worst, and Nate wasn’t immune to that line of thinking, either. He was too embarrassed to call the police over something like this. He wasn’t a small, defenseless woman. He was a pretty big guy. He should have been able to protect himself from assholes who couldn’t take no for an answer.
Normally, he could have, but not when his vision was swimming and his cock was so hard. Fuck, what had been in that drink?
“Fuck off,” Nate said, trying to focus his gaze on his phone. “I’m not sucking your cock, so you can wait until hell freezes over.” He could wait. Maya would check her phone at some point when she noticed that he was missing.
Arnold let out a put-upon sigh, as if Nate was being the asshole here.
But then Nate heard the sound of retreating footsteps. The door opened and closed.
Nate peered at the door suspiciously, unconvinced that Arnold had really given up and left. It was entirely possible that the dick was waiting for him outside the bathroom.
Well, he would be waiting for a long time. Nate closed his eyes and breathed, trying to sober up, but whatever had been in his drink was hella strong. He didn’t feel sober, his thoughts unable to focus on anything.
He wished Raffaele were here.
Nate shook his head, trying to shake off the inane thought, but that only made him dizzier. He groaned, dropping his head into his hands, feeling so damn pathetic and weak and pissed at himself for it. How had he missed that his drink had been spiked?
And why do you care that it was? said the voice at the back of his head. Didn’t you come here to get laid? Wouldn’t the drugs have made things easier?
The thought made him pause for a moment. But he pushed it away. He didn’t… He didn’t want to think about it.
He wished Raffaele were here.
Nate groaned again. For fuck’s sake.
But the thought was impossible to push away, coming back to him. He yearned for Raffaele’s insufferably self-assured attitude. No one would dare spike Raffaele’s drink. It was only losers like Nate who got into this kind of shit. Raffaele was so strong… and firm, and steady. Nate felt wonderfully centered around him. So good. And safe. Taken care of.
“Ugh, I need to bleach my brain,” Nate muttered. “I’m just drunk. And drugged. That’s it.” He wasn’t responsible for any weird thoughts in this state. This wasn’t him. He didn’t fucking need Raffaele Ferrara to come here like some knight in shining armor and save the day. For one thing, he didn’t need saving. For another, Raffaele would make a terrible knight in shining armor. He was more of a dragon. A very bossy dragon. And a very hot one. Because dragons were hot. They breathed fire, so they were hot, right?