The Billionaire's Dirty Secret

"Give him your most expensive gin and tonic," Emerson said, his voice cutting through the thumping bass of the club.

He didn't look at the bartender. His eyes were locked on the man across the circular wood bar, tracing the way the strobe lights caught the hidden flecks of blue within those sharp green irises. It was a magnetic pull, the kind that made the rest of the boisterous crowd feel like a blurred, distant memory.

The stranger leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping against the polished bar top. "Are you attempting to impress me?" he asked. His voice was smooth, but there was a jagged edge of skepticism that made Emerson’s pulse jump.

Emerson let his gaze drop to the man’s lips, which were full and slightly parted. He felt a familiar, sharp twitch of desire low in his gut. "You’re still talking to me," Emerson countered, sliding a step closer. "And you haven't run off yet. Doesn't that mean I've already succeeded?"

He purposefully licked his own lips, watching with a surge of satisfaction as the stranger’s eyes tracked the movement. The tension between them was thick enough to choke on, vibrating at the same frequency as the music shaking the walls.

The gin and tonic arrived, the ice clinking against the glass as the bartender slid it across the wood. A strained silence fell between them for a moment. Julian—as he had identified himself—took a slow, deliberate sip. Emerson watched the rhythm of his throat as he swallowed. He felt a sudden, desperate need to loosen his own collar; the Armani suit felt like it was beginning to shrink against the heat radiating from his skin.

"I dislike cocky ones like you," Julian said, placing the glass back down with a soft click. He leaned forward, his green eyes narrowing. "But I’ve had a crap day, and I need to let off steam."

Emerson’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. "Yeah? What a coincidence. I've had a crap day, too."

He didn't wait for an invitation. Emerson leaned in until he was inches away, his breath ghosting over Julian’s ear. He could smell the forest-perfume cologne, something earthy and expensive that cut through the club’s scent of sweat and spilled liquor. Emerson traced a slow, feathery line up the side of Julian’s neck with one finger.

"And that is my problem how?" Julian chuckled, though he tilted his head to the side, exposing more of his skin to Emerson’s touch.

"Because we can help each other," Emerson whispered.

"Can we now?"

The sarcasm in Julian's voice was a challenge, a hook that Emerson was more than happy to bite. People usually threw themselves at Emerson the moment they realized he was a Lanka, but this man was playing a different game entirely. He was toying with him, testing the boundaries of Emerson's confidence.

A wave of pure lust knotted in Emerson's stomach, stripping away the last of his patience. With a low, guttural growl, he wrapped his hand around the back of Julian’s neck, his fingers tangling in the shorter hair at the nape. He forced Julian to look at him, their faces inches apart. There was a flame flickering in those green eyes—dark, enticing, and utterly reckless.

Emerson didn't think; he just acted. He slammed his lips against Julian’s, desperate to taste the gin and the frustration and the shared misery of their day.

Julian made a sharp, shocked noise against his mouth, his body tensing as his fingers dug into the edge of the bar. For a split second, Emerson thought he might be pushed away, but then the tension snapped. Julian’s hands flew to Emerson’s back, pulling him closer as he opened up, his tongue wet and hungry. He tasted exactly like the drink Emerson had bought him—sharp, cold, and intoxicating. Emerson wanted to tear the clothes off him right there; he wanted to hear him scream in a room where the music couldn't drown him out.

"Maybe..." Julian breathed, pulling back just enough to shove a finger between their chests. He was flushed, his lips swollen and wet. "You should get us a room. The staff is giving us dirty looks."

Emerson didn't care about the staff, but the idea of being alone with Julian was a siren song. "I was going to invite you to dance first," he teased, his voice rough. "But if you insist—"

"I do," Julian cut in. He leaned in, biting the tip of Emerson’s ear before whispering, "I need someone to screw my brains out, and you look like you’d be a good candidate."

Emerson stood there for a heartbeat, his brain stuck in a loop of shock and arousal. He looked at the swaying crowd, then back at the man who was currently taking up every square inch of his mind. Julian chuckled at the expression on Emerson’s face.

"What's the matter, sexy? Did the cat eat your tongue?" Julian pressed a palm against Emerson’s chest and gave him a playful shove. "Well, I'm fairly certain I can find someone else if you're not interested."

He started to turn away, but Emerson’s hand shot out, catching his wrist. "Don't you dare."

Emerson waved the bartender over, his movements sharp and decisive. "Do you have rooms available?"

"Yeah. Regular or VIP?" the bartender asked, not even looking up from the glass she was polishing.

"VIP. Put it on my account," Emerson said, tossing his credit card onto the counter. "And make sure there’s a 'do not disturb' sign on the door."

The walk to the VIP wing was a blur of hands and teeth. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Emerson was all over him. They staggered toward the large bed in the center of the dark room, clothes hitting the floor in a frantic trail of silk and wool. Emerson felt ravenous. It wasn't just about the sex; it was about the release of all the pent-up rage he’d been carrying since he walked out of his father’s office.

"You are something else," Julian panted as Emerson momentarily pulled away to dim the lights.

Emerson turned toward the bedside table, his hands shaking slightly as he reached for the drawer. He saw the house-provided condoms and lube, but he scoffed, pulling his own from his wallet and tossing them onto the dark sheets.

Julian watched him, a slow, amused smile spreading across his face. "Not good enough for you, then?" he teased, nodding toward the nightstand.

"No," Emerson said, smoothing his hair back. He took a moment to just look at Julian. The man was still wearing his shirt, though it was unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders, his pants undone at the waist. He was fit—lean muscle and smooth skin that glowed in the dim light. Emerson felt a fresh wave of heat. They were almost the same height, though Emerson had a bit more bulk.

Julian noticed the staring and let his hands roam down his own chest and abs. "Like what you see?"

"Yes," Emerson replied, his voice dropping. "But I’m wondering why you’re still dressed."

Julian’s eyes darkened. He gave Emerson a slow, calculated once-over. Emerson had already lost his shirt, his powerful torso on full display. The hunger in Julian's gaze was the best validation Emerson had felt all day. It was an honest, raw reaction that had nothing to do with his last name.

"Maybe I'd like you to take them off for me?" Julian suggested, stepping forward.

Emerson didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed Julian’s wrists, forcing him back against the wall and pinning him there with the weight of his own body. The rest of Julian’s clothes were gone in record time. The contact of their bare skin sent electric jolts through Emerson’s system, grounding him and setting him on fire all at once.

"God, you're so hot," Emerson moaned, burying his face in the crook of Julian’s neck. He could feel Julian’s heart racing against his own. The memory of their kiss at the bar flashed through his mind, fueling the fire. He gripped Julian’s head, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Suck me."

Julian’s nod was slow, accompanied by a sly, knowing smile. "Thought you’d never ask."

Emerson choked back a laugh, his fingers tangling in Julian’s hair and giving a firm tug. It wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to set the tone. "I wasn't asking, Julian."

Julian took a sharp breath, a touch of red coloring his cheeks. He liked it. The realization made Emerson’s blood boil with excitement. He guided Julian toward the edge of the bed, sitting down and pulling him between his parted thighs.

He ran his fingers through Julian’s hair, scratching the scalp gently before giving another sharp tug. Julian let out a low, erotic moan that went straight to Emerson’s head.

"You will obey me tonight," Emerson announced, his voice thick with authority. He needed this—this one place where he was the one in charge, where his decisions were the only ones that mattered.

Julian caught his breath, his green eyes glinting with a defiant light as he looked up from between Emerson’s knees. "And what if I don't?"

Emerson reached down, cupping Julian’s chin and tilting his head back. "Then I’ll have to punish you."

Julian rolled his eyes, but the smirk on his face told Emerson everything he needed to know. He was a brat, a man who loved to push buttons and test limits. Emerson leaned back, a dark, satisfied grin spreading across his face. Julian might be a challenge, but Emerson Lanka was the only one who got top billing as the boss in this room.