Page 45 of Ambiguous
“I think so, too,” I admit in a small voice. “Very much so. And I very much want that. And we very much can’t do it. At least not now.”
We look at each other, and he’s the one who breaks our staring contest, turning to gaze out the open windows to the vast ocean beyond.
I don’t know if it’s seconds or minutes that pass. I should leave, but I don’t want to. It feels like if I leave, everything will change. I’ll have to admit that I can’t have him.
It’s better to stay in limbo.
“If the issue is an ethical one, what would happen if I finish the album?” Jules asks.
“Well…” I think on it. “If the label had no claim against you, I guess you wouldn’t be adverse anymore.”
“And in that case, you would be interested in… in pursuing whatever this is between us.” He waves his hand.
“Yes.” Now it’s my turn for my voice to crack, and heat singes my cheeks.
A smile spreads across his face. “Done.”
I rub my cheeks with my palms. “Oh, god. This is going to be awkward, isn’t it?”
“No,” he says. “This is going to be the fastest album ever written.”
“And we can be friends,” I blurt. “Right? I mean, while we’re, you know, waiting for the ethical issues to be resolved?”
“I’d like that.”
“Wonderful. We’re friends.” I stand up, my own erection tenting my pants. I palm my dick through the fabric, and Julian groans. He stands, too, but stays about six feet away from me. I give him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” He looks down at his own erection. “I’m staying away, physically away, because otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll maul you. I have self-control, but”—his voice drops to a whisper—“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
“Me neither.” I look at my shoes. “But we’re friends. Just friends. I’d better go. Thank you for dinner… and everything. I’ll be checking in with you because, well, you know. It’s my job. But as always, no pressure.”
A crooked, cheeky smile stretches his lips. “Oh, I’ll be feelingplentyof pressure.” He leans forward and wraps me in a quick hug, and it feels so good to be touching him, I almost give in to starting something more. “Soon,” he whispers in my ear and ruffles my hair.
We break apart, and I open the door and leave.
He stands in the doorway as I drive away.
CHAPTER17
Jules
In the darkened arena, I lean into the microphone stand, the world at my feet, the tight black leather of my pants creaking as I move. My torso’s bare, but a peacock-blue feather boa hangs around my shoulders like a real boa constrictor. The wind machine makes the individual feathers wave.
And I’m very aroused, my cock pulsating with need.
Before me, a blond, bow-tied man kneels, which is my first indication that this is a dream.
It’s a very, very good dream. I think I moan.
Another indication that this is a dream? If there’s an audience around, it’s silent. All my focus is on Sam.
He’s looking up to me, reaching for me, but he’s showing me his hands, which are tied with thick ropes.
Okay, dream. Thanks for the symbolism. Got it.
I feel this tremendous need to be with him. Holding him.
My impulse is to reach for him, but my hands don’t move. And despite how I try, I can’t seem to stop singing, like a force field is holding me to the microphone. To the performance.
