Page 97 of Ambiguous
I need to see him. I pull out and tap the side of his hip. “This way.”
He nods and turns over, lifting his legs. I slide back in and growl at the feeling. It’s not about owning him or possessing him. He’s giving me this gift of intimacy. Of letting me see him so exposed.
His eyes are on mine, and something shifts deep inside me. Maybe something that was already there. But this man’sitfor me.
I don’t know how I know that so fast—except that it isn’t so fast. I’ve met a lot of people. And none of them created the reactions in me that he does.
I want to stay in this moment forever, but my body doesn’t agree. “I’m about to come,” I whisper.
“Me, too.” Sam gasps, reaching down to bring himself off, but I bat his hand away. He nods and does this sexy grimace-smile at the pleasure of me handling his cock. “Okay.”
I try to find my rhythm again, timing my strokes on his dick with those inside his ass. And now I feel like I’m taking over his body—and he’s letting me.
It might be the best feeling in the universe. Better than the feeling before I get on stage. Better than having a song come to me.
This, right here. This connection with a man I really care for. This might top everything.
“Jules,” he murmurs, and I can tell by the desperation of his movements and the hardness of his dick that he’s going to come. So I keep up the pace, and he rewards me with bursts of warm spunk trickling down my fist.
Fuck, yes. I watch him tense with pleasure and release, falling apart on my knob. Then I let myself go and fall into him, kissing him as I come. I grunt loud enough that someone could hear me in a packed stadium, without a microphone.
I fall onto him after, trying not to squish him and failing miserably.
“That was sexy,” Sam says. “Oh my god.”
I grin against his ear, then pant, “So sexy.” Holding the condom carefully, I pull out, and I can see the moment that he winces. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
I kiss him lightly. “One sec.” I climb down off the bed and pad into the bathroom to toss the condom and clean off my hands and belly, then come back with a warm washcloth for Sam.
After we’re sorted, I tuck in behind him and gather him up in my arms.
* * *
In the morning, there’s a sleeping blond man in bed with me, and I pause to look at him.
My heartbeat quickens and my nerve endings tingle. I close my eyes to savor this moment and then open them again.
A tendril of his hair has flopped onto his forehead, and his cheeks look full, like a child’s. He’s rounder, softer when he’s asleep, not all square jaw and broad cheekbones.
Seeing him this relaxed makes me realize that he probably works a lot and doesn’t get a lot of rest. It also makes me want to care for him the way I’d want to be taken care of.
He’s all man, don’t get me wrong. He just looks less like a lawyer and more like a human. Not that lawyers aren’t humans. Well, some of them, anyway.
He simply seems like my Sam.
I’m not sure when he went from “this bloke I met” to “my Sam,” but it’s happened. I want to know more about him and give him everything he deserves.
That makes me frown. Does he deserve what being with me might do to his life?
What if I take Sam out in public and he gets eviscerated by my fans? That would be awful for him. Moreover, what if my fans turn on me? That’s been my biggest fear since I became dependent on them for my livelihood.
But I don’t owe them anything beyond what I sell and they pay for: my music. They support me, and I love them, but they don’t get a say in who I love. Anyhow, most Hillions seem to support me no matter what I say and defend me vehemently against the trolls.
Of course, there’s also the issue that he still has this other guy he’s attached to, at least on paper. Well, I suppose it’s not technically “on paper,” but it’s not real.
Sam is real, though. Very real. And maybe nothing matters except him in my arms.
