Page 123 of Ambiguous
“Wow.” We struck a deal with Kurt to use his painting of two men embracing, the one I first saw hanging in Sam’s office, as the cover.
“And they’re loving the video at the mini-golf place. It looks like it was shot on an iPhone with you just having fun.”
“That’s ’cause it was.”
“I know. Still, it’s got a great look.”
“What’s up?” Sam asks sleepily.
I kiss his lips. “It seems your boy here may be doing rather well for himself with his new album.”
“Seriously?” He sits up, the blanket dropping from his shoulders, exposing his torso. His body radiates heat. He’s all hard planes combined with soft, drowsy pleasure, and I can’t get enough of him.
“Seriously.”
“Lighthouse must be kicking themselves right now. Serves them right for being so narrow-minded.”
“There’s my champion.” I pull over my laptop and log into a few music sites, seeing that yes, indeed, my new release is trending everywhere. Not one or two songs. The whole album. And not just in one place, but in various categories.
Because my songs transcend labels.
It’s nice to be validated like this, but I’m more heartened that people are connecting with the music, which is all I really ever wanted.
“We need to celebrate,” he says. “Once we’re awake, I mean.”
“Do you have any ideas of celebratory things we could do before we wake fully?”
“I have lots of ideas,” he says. He carefully sets the laptop aside and then tackles me to the bed.
I kiss his shoulders, brushing my lips along his skin, watching the tiny hairs stand up. Watching the way he shivers and reacts. Feeling his low moans. I chuckle. “That good?”
“So good.”
I ghost my hands over him, and he lets me. I love this part. When he lets me touch him. When it’s just us and I know what we both want.
I feather my fingers over his nipples and listen to his breath, indulging, enjoying him. I let myself feel him, my lips caressing his skin.
He squirms under me. “Get a move on, Hill. I need you.”
“Need?”
“Definitely need.”
“I feel the same way,” I murmur.
I trail my fingers down and reach his hard cock. I scratch my nails through his happy trail and over his balls, and he groans. Then I grasp the base of his cock and slide my hand up to the head, where I know he likes to be tugged.
His groan is guttural, feral. It’s nothing like his buttoned-up public persona. Knowing I can do this to him—turn him inside out—is one of my favorite things.
I kiss him hard and then somehow end up licking his cock. Oops.
Well, since I’m here, I might as well take a big suck. My mouth floods with precome, and I’m lost in him. I’m falling and our bodies are crashing and everything is so amazing and he’s right here and it’s too much to handle except that it’s not. And then the tables are turned and he’s holding me. He’s kissing me.
When Sam kisses me, the world falls away and all I focus on is him. I get this way when singing. Or writing. But with Sam, like this, I feel more myself than I do at just about any other time.
And I love everything about it.
CHAPTER47
