Page 96 of Ambiguous
When the song is over, Julian kisses the bolt of my jaw, his mouth soft against my stubble. “I’ve always wanted someone to sing that song to.”
Our eyes lock, and I’m speechless. I swallow hard and kiss him.
And eventually we make dinner.
CHAPTER35
Jules
It’s late, and the room is lit by candles burning on the dresser as I push Sam’s naked body into the clouds of the bed.
I lean down to kiss him, my legs settling between his. I’m torn—skin to skin doesn’t seem close enough, but I also want to watch him. Watch the way he wiggles and shimmies. Watch how he handles me touching him—his breath coming sharp and fast, his pupils dilating, his thighs quivering. Watch his pleasure.
We kiss leisurely and sensuously, and it builds until we’re both breathless. I roll off to one side, my head propped on my hand, and trace my fingertips along his body. I like his pale, uninked skin, although I can’t help but think he’d look good with a few tattoos. He’d look good in anything.
He’s shivering, but it’s not from cold. Seeing him respond makes my body roar to life. The earlier orgasms didn’t even take the edge off. If anything, they made me hungry for so much more.
“Want you,” he murmurs, one of his hands skipping along my side. “Inside me.”
“Fuck yes, please, yes.” One more kiss, and then I help him flip to his stomach.
It’s deeply satisfying, seeing him like this, his bubble arse popping up and his shoulders defined and beautiful.
Moreover, the way he’s offering himself to me—trusting me with his body and, I think, with his heart—makes me want to do anything and everything for him.
I’m going to take care of him.
Lightly, I rub his back and pepper him with kisses. My cock bumps into his leg and then his bum cheek as I reposition myself to touch all of him.
I take out a bottle of lube and squidge some on my fingers. Then I trace along his crack until I get to his hole and breach him. “You good?” I whisper, my hair touching his ear.
He nods and moans.
I take my time with the prep, not wanting this to be too much for him. Because it kind of already is too much for me—too many emotions. All this nakedness. All this skin. All these feelings, both physical and in my heart and, hell, my soul.
But when he’s loose and ready and squirming for me, I move so I can see his eyes. He closes them and nods, then looks at me fiercely over his shoulder. “Please,” is all he says. “Please fuck me now.”
“Okay, love,” I whisper. I get a condom on and line up. Pressing into him, mounting him, I feel how tight and hot he is around me, and I can’t deal with all the sensations happening at once. I need a moment—and likely he does, too. I wait for him to adjust to me, disregarding how much I’m shaking.
Usually sex is just a way to get off. Usually it’s down and dirty and done.
But I don’t ever want this to end.
I barely want it to begin. Because things that begin usually end, so in the past I’ve protected myself from getting in too deep.
With Sam, though, I’m already in. Not just inside his body—watching him breathe heavily to let me fit—but also in deep with my heart.
And I don’t want to think about potential consequences. I want to let myself be here, present, now.
“Oh god,” I groan. “This. I. You.” My body curls over his. I bite the meat of his shoulder, then haul him up on all fours so I can reach his cock.
“Fuck me,” he begs. “Please.”
I nod. And I start to thrust: in, out. In, out. I hold his hips and carefully begin to fuck him, my movements at first slow and long, then getting faster and more shallow, losing the rhythm and the plot and the beat.
For a musician, it feels bad to lose the beat, but it’s also freeing. Like a drummer who’s lost a stick, I’m off, but it feels more real. Like it’s us. Something I can take with me for the rest of my life: what it feels like to fuck Sam Stone.
He’s into it, too, making a stream of sexy noises, and I can tell when I hit his prostate because his tone shifts to one of utter need.
