I turned to him after I finished typing the sentence.
“The guys and I talked, and the new record is going to be called The Reckoning.”
“I like it.”
“Yeah,” he whispered, nodding, looking down at his fingers strumming the guitar and then back up to me. “And so, you know, the first song is called ‘Heart and Lock,’ and, well…it’s about you.”
“Me?”
“Don’t sound so distraught.”
I groaned. “What about me?”
“Ridiculous head-over-heels-in-love things that I’m certain will make you physically ill.”
I let my head fall back on the swing as he chuckled.
“The band said they had no idea I could even write a ballad.”
“Oh God.”
“And a power ballad at that.”
The horror. “Do not ruin your career over me,” I groused at him.
“No,” he agreed, leaning sideways toward me.
“What?”
He snickered and puckered.
“I do not kiss on command.”
“Oh, baby, I know,” he agreed, his voice hoarse and silky. “I have to work for it.”
“That’s what you’re signing on for,” I warned him.
“I am aware,” he said with a sigh, tipping his head at me. “Now, please come here.”
I meant to simply brush his lips with mine, but he caught my bottom lip with his teeth, gently, letting me know I was trapped. He tasted like sweet tea and the salt from the potato chips he’d eaten, and a trace of peaches. I made sure to deepen the kiss in case there was any flavor I was missing.
His groan was decadent, as it had been earlier, and I felt a roll of arousal go through me, because he was telegraphing a desire I wasn’t sure he was even aware of.
“Nick,” I said softly, my hand on his cheek, my thumb sliding over his lips. “Honey, could there be a way you want to seal this new thing between us?”
His pupils were huge, utterly blown as he stared at me, and his breath caught when I slipped my thumb into his mouth.
“Did you want me to take you upstairs, put you up against the wall, and then send you out to sing with my cum still dripping out of your ass?”
I not only saw his shudder, but I felt it, and the swing jostled with the movement. When I pulled him forward, kissing him, taking the guitar away and putting it gently on the table in front of us, his hands fisted in my T-shirt as I tipped his head back and devoured his mouth.
When I eased back, parting us, his breathing was rough, hitching again and again.
“I leave marks,” I warned him, lifting him to his feet and meeting his gaze.
“Yes, please.”
“You can’t whine, and you can’t cry.”
“No, I would never.”
“This is you giving me consent.”
“Absolutely, yes,” he almost keened, and because I didn’t want anyone to see him so needy, so out of control, I grabbed his hand and hauled him after me.
Everyone else was down at the stage where the band would be playing again, so there was no one there to witness me tugging him up the stairs and shoving him through the bedroom door, locking it behind me. When I rounded on him, he was there, staring at me, waiting, and I grinned before I grabbed him and wrenched him forward, off his feet and into my arms.
I kissed him until he was breathless and panting, and then darted across the room, grabbed the lube from the drawer of the nightstand where we’d been keeping it, and was back manhandling him until he was pressed face-first up against the door.
“I thought you were kidding,” he gasped as I reached around and unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped him, and shucked his briefs and jeans to his ankles.
“Why would I be kidding?” I asked, mouthing the back of his neck, rucking up his T-shirt, palming the smooth skin of his back before yanking the shirt up over his head and off, as I told him to put his hands on the door and not move.
He did as he was told, quickly, and when I snapped open the cap of the lube, he moaned my name.
“You don’t even know if I’m good at this,” I said, pushing down my own chinos and underwear, my hard cock bouncing free as I slicked it before pushing my index fingers up inside of his round, muscled ass.
“I know you’re good at this,” he said, his hands sliding down the door to brace himself as he lifted his ass lewdly, parting his legs as much as his jeans would allow. “The way you move under me when I’m inside of you, how you push back and make me hold you down, how your hands clench in my hair, the bruises you leave—I’m not stupid. I know, whether you’re on the bottom or on the top, you’re all power, and I want you to fuckin’ give it to me.”
I added another finger, but just enough to grease his entrance, to make sure there would be the slide, but I didn’t take any time to stretch him or work him open.