When Cohen Phillips exited the restroom, Anthony Ferguson was already gone.
After washing his hands, he headed back to the private room.
As he turned a corner, an arm shot out, hooked around his waist, and pulled him into a dimly lit alcove, pinning him against the wall.
After a moment of tension, he recognized the person.
Tilting his head slightly, he asked as if the memory of their unpleasant parting yesterday didn't exist, "What's wrong?"
Bard Morgan's palm rested on his waist, leaning in close.
His hot breath, carrying the scent of alcohol, fanned across Cohen's face.
Cohen stared into his dark eyes and asked tentatively, "Are you drunk?"
Bard didn't answer.
His gaze drifted lower, settling on Cohen's slightly parted lips, a storm brewing in the depths of his eyes.
Cohen felt like prey cornered by a beast, pressing himself nervously against the wall.
"Bard... Mph!"
His lips were captured in a bite, causing Cohen's eyes to widen in shock.
Bard nibbled for a moment, unsatisfied with just the surface.
He raised a hand to grip Cohen's chin, forcing his mouth open and plunging in with an unstoppable, invasive kiss.
"Mmph... Mmm..."
His mind blank, Cohen tilted his head back and endured the sudden, intense kiss. He didn't know how long it lasted, nor when his hands had found their way around the man's neck.
Bard Morgan pulled back slightly, looking down at the person before him—kissed into disarray, gasping for air in the brief respite.
The intensity in his eyes didn't diminish; instead, it grew stronger.
He tightened his arm around Cohen's waist and lifted him.
"Ah..."
Suddenly suspended, Cohen regained a sliver of consciousness.
His dazed eyes looked at Bard in panic.
"You..."
Bard pressed him firmly against the wall, the strength in his arms unyielding.
Cohen bit his lip, tightened his hold around Bard's neck, buried his face in the crook of his shoulder, and pleaded weakly, "Put me down."
Bard turned his head, nipped at his earlobe, and trailed down the side of his neck, licking and teasing as if toying with prey already in his grasp, ready to break the skin and devour him whole at any moment.
A shiver of fear ran through Cohen.
For the first time, he directly understood what his brother meant when he said Bard Morgan was dangerous.
This man's veneer of refinement and gentility was only skin deep.
"Scared?"
Bard's voice was low and hoarse, carrying a warning.
"Cohen, I'm not the person you think I am. If you get involved with me, you'll be eaten alive, bones and all. It's not too late to let go now."
Cohen's eyelids fluttered slightly.
He held on a little tighter.
"Heh..."
Bard let out a low laugh.
"I'm lying to you."
"It's already too late."
"Baby..."
Cohen hurriedly closed his eyes, embarrassed by the sudden term of endearment.
Bard took his burning earlobe between his lips, nibbling gently, his tone thick and dark.
"The first time I saw you in the elevator, I thought you were beautiful. The second time, when you were tempting me in the hot spring... do you know what I was thinking then?"
Cohen turned his head away, shrinking back, his face growing hotter.
"I was thinking how this beautiful body would look even better covered in my marks."
Bard, like a pervert, chased the warmth of Cohen's slender, pale neck.
"That night, I dreamed. In the dream, I was holding you just like this, but you weren't wearing any clothes. You were so soft all over..."
"Stop talking!"
Cohen couldn't take it anymore; he was about to explode!
Bard ignored him and continued, "You were crying so pitifully. I called you 'baby,' coaxed you... not out of pity, but to lure you back into my arms so I could torment you even more thoroughly."
Cohen covered his mouth, his voice trembling.
"Stop talking! You pervert!"
He took Cohen Phillips's hand, pressed a kiss to it, and chuckled, "I'm a pervert. Still like me, baby?"
His voice dropped to a whisper, laced with dark amusement.
"I've already had my way with you in my dreams, and here you are in reality, still clinging to me, just wanting to chat, hold hands, play at some pure romance... Now that I've laid my cards on the table, are you scared?"
It was because of that absurd, lustful dream that the urge to possess Cohen Phillips had taken root. Cohen, completely unaware of his filthy thoughts, had kept approaching him with transparent little tricks.
He'd been afraid of scaring him away, unusually suppressing his desires, but Cohen had completely misinterpreted it.
This kid really had no idea how enticing he was.
Tch.
It seems I can't pretend too much after all.
Cohen withdrew his hand and looked directly at him.
There was no retreat in his eyes, but there was hesitation.
"Then... do you like me?"
Bard said with a serious face, "It was your looks that caught me. I want to take you home and have my way with you. Does that count as 'like'?"
"..."
Cohen truly hadn't expected Bard Morgan to harbor such strong desire for him.
"I originally wanted to wait a bit longer. Taking it step by step wasn't bad either. But you got the wrong idea. I didn't want you pursuing me with a heavy heart."
"Cohen, let's give it a try."
Bard Morgan said, "I don't know what outcome you're looking for, but maybe I can give it to you."
Cohen was silent for a moment, then gently tugged at Bard's ear, his eyes half-lowered.
"So, we try being together? You give me what I'm looking for, and I'll let you bully me properly, whenever you like."
Bard's Adam's apple bobbed.
"The outcome you want is just that?"
"I haven't thought about more yet. Maybe I'll get greedier."
"Then date me first?"
"Okay."
Cohen's eyes curved into a smile.
"Are you my boyfriend now?"
Bard freed one hand to press the back of Cohen's head.
As their lips met, he murmured against them, "If you want to be, then we are."
"..."
Cohen tightened his arms around Bard's neck.
Who cared if it was just lust or a little bit of liking?
Getting him was already half the battle won.
Deeper feelings could be cultivated slowly later.
The kiss was lingering and sticky.
When they finally parted, both their breaths were somewhat ragged.
Cohen opened his eyes, his gaze dazed as he looked ahead.
Spotting a figure standing not far away, his pupils trembled slightly.
He patted Bard's shoulder.
"Put me down."
Bard set him on his feet but didn't move away.
He kept an arm around Cohen's waist, kissing his eyes, his cheeks, then capturing his slightly swollen lips again, savoring the taste, recklessly demanding more...
...
Back in the private room, Davey Doyle saw Cade Phillips return and teased, waving his glass, "Cade, see a ghost in the bathroom? You're so pale."
Cade forced a pale smile, shook his head, and sat back down.
The hands resting on his knees were still trembling.
How could... how could they have gotten involved?
They were two people who should have had no connection at all!
Over ten minutes later, the private room door opened again.
Cohen Phillips walked in, a scarf covering the lower half of his face.
Aside from a faint pinkness at the corners of his eyes, his expression was normal.
Cade Phillips, fists clenched, stared intently at him.
Cohen met his gaze indifferently for a moment before sitting down.
Anthony Ferguson, sitting beside him, tapped the table and tilted his chin slightly.
"Drink that soup."
Cohen moved over a small bowl that hadn't been there before.
Opening the lid, a faint medicinal smell wafted out.
"What is this?"
"Hangover soup."
"You probably need it more than I do?"
Anthony glared.
"Just drink it when I tell you to."
Cohen pulled down his scarf and started drinking.
Anthony narrowed his eyes and leaned closer.
"Why are your lips swollen?"
Cohen placed a hand on his face and pushed him away.
Anthony, his mind still foggy from drink, didn't press further.
He shifted his gaze to Kerry Phillips, who was chatting amiably with Milton Benjamin diagonally across the table.
Anthony's face stiffened, and he let out a cold snort.
When everyone had eaten their fill, Davey Doyle suggested they move the party elsewhere.
He looked around but didn't see Bard Morgan.
Scratching his head, he said, "Did Bard leave early again? But his coat is still here..."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Bard Morgan walked in.
"Bard! I thought you'd left."
Davey said with a grin.
"Full and happy? Wanna go have some fun?"
Bard glanced at Cohen, who was looking down at his phone, then walked to his seat to pick up his coat.
"Go if you want."