Page 32 of Patchwork
Would it be crazy to give up my dream job for all of this? Would Hero even want me to? What will it take for me to work up the courage to at least ask?
Chapter 15
HERO
Iwrapmyarmsaround Onyx from behind as he fills the kitchen sink with soapy water. The faint smell of charcoal smoke and sunshine lingers on his skin, and he laughs at the way my beard tickles the back of his neck.
“You don’t have to do that. I was going to take care of it in the morning.” I kiss a small patch of freckles right behind his ear.
“I don’t mind. I always sleep better knowing the dishes are done and the kitchen is clean.” He picks up the sponge from its perch next to the sink and starts to wash the plates and utensils I used to grill.
“I thought rockstars were supposed to be messy,” I tease, letting go of him and grabbing a rag to dry with.
“I thought bikers were supposed to be criminals,” he counters, shooting me a pointed look that makes me shrink a little. “I’m more than just a rockstar, Hero.”
He says it lightly, but I can hear a twinge of hurt underpinning his words. Guilt twists in my stomach. Have Ibeen doing that? Seeing him aswhathe is instead of who he is? Maybe. Maybe he’s right.
“Fair enough. So, you like your place clean. What else don’t I know about you?”
“That might take all night to answer.” Onyx bumps my shoulder with his and then playfully flicks some bubbles at me. He gives me a curious look out of the corner of his eye, like there’s something else he wants to say, as he passes me a plate to dry.
“What?” I ask with a chuckle, taking the plate and drying it, then reaching for the next one.
“Nothing.” He grins back and shrugs.
“Tell me.” I flick a few stray droplets of water at him.
“Nothing,” Onyx insists, scooping up a handful of soapy water and splashing me with it.
It soaks my shirt and drips from my beard, and he cackles loudly, scooping up more water with a threatening grin.
“I can’t believe you splashed me with dirty dish water,” I gasp, lunging forward and grabbing the hose extension. “Now, put down that water and nobody gets hurt.” I point the nozzle at Onyx with my finger hovering over the little plastic trigger.
He narrows his eyes, seeming to consider his options.
“Okay, truce.” He starts to tip his hand to dump the water back into the sink, but at the last second, he splashes it on me again.
“Hey! You ass.” I squeeze the trigger and nail him right in the center of his chest with a cold stream of water that drenches his shirt.
“Fuck, that’s cold!” Onyx bellows, using both hands to send a fresh tidal wave of sink water at me.
I dodge as far out of the way as the hose will let me, and most of the water lands on my feet and the bottoms of my pants. We shout and laugh, drenching each other and the kitchenfloor while Diva watches judgmentally from the doorway, a safe distance from the splash zone.
“I surrender, I surrender,” Onyx wheezes and laughs, shaking his head to get the water out of his face, wet strands of his hair sending droplets of cold water splattering against the walls.
I ease off the trigger to stop the flow of water. My clothes are all dripping wet and completely soaked through, my stiff nipples visible through my clinging t-shirt. Both of our chests heave with panting breaths, and silence falls between us for half a second as our eyes lock, smiles still etched on both our faces.
I drop the hose, and it clunks against the front of the counter without retracting. We move at the same time, crashing into each other with a quiet grunt, our lips meeting in a ravenous, rough kiss. My hands slide down to grab handfuls of Onyx’s ass while he tugs on my wet shirt, our tongues lashing against each other.
For years I’ve tried not to fantasize about what it would be like to have him here as part of my life, hanging out with my friends and doing all the boring day-to-day shit with me. I can feel the wall I built between casual and real crumbling, brick by brick, every day that he’s here, and tonight was like a sledgehammer to it. I kept looking over while we worked on our bikes and talked shit to each other, expecting to find Onyx looking bored. But every time he just looked relaxed and…happywith his guitar and his notebook, occasionally meeting my eyes with a smile and a wink or tilting his head back to watch the daylight fade.
I don’t seehowhe could fit here, but fuck, I want him to. I’m not even talking about asking him to give up his band. He said himself that he hardly spends any time at his place in Seattle. What if he just came here in between tours instead? Could wemake a relationship work like that? Do I have any right to even ask?
“Fuck me,” he murmurs against my lips, jerking his hips so the hard shape of his cock drags against mine through our soggy jeans.
I shove all of my pondering thoughts to the back of my mind to pick them apart later, and kiss him deeper, kneading his ass cheeks and greedily swallowing the moans he feeds me.
We haven’t fucked since he showed up. We’ve sucked each other and spent lazy hours kissing and grinding against each other in bed until we’ve ended up panting and sticky with our combined cum, but we haven’t fucked. My cock aches at the thought of sinking into his hot, tight hole. He wants it as badly as I do. I can feel it in every jerk of his hips and the snake of his tongue around mine. Onyx claws at my shirt and murmurs my name in between nips to my bottom lip.
