Page 19 of Spread Your Wings
“Hey,” he said, opening the door for Mustafa. He wore jeans, a sweater, and a boxy gray peacoat.Even sexier than the hotel’s tuxedo uniform.
“Shh,” Mustafa replied, pushing him away from the door so he could shut it, lock it, and pull the deadbolt into place.
“What’s going on?”
Mustafa crushed him in a hug. Sammy responded, wrapping his arms around Mustafa’s waist and inhaling the scent of spicy pine aftershave. Mustafa’s rough stubble grazed his cheek.
“I have never been so glad to see someone in my life. I tried to head home after work, but it’s too dangerous. Karadzic’s men have been restless all day. One of the wash boys tried to run to his car, but they are on the roof. They shot at his feet. They’restill up there, shooting at people in the street, shooting at anyone they know is Muslim.”
Mustafa quaked in his arms. “A housekeeper overheard Karadzic’s guards. They’re going to go through the hotel, room by room, searching for Muslim workers. That’s when I ran up here. The fifth floor is mostly foreign reporters. American. French. British.”
“You could have knocked on any door,” Sammy said, feeling foolish. Somehow, he’d missed the signs of war within their own hotel.
“I don’t know them. I know you.” Mustafa lifted his head, his brown eyes shining in the lamp light. “Thank you.”
Sammy cupped Mustafa’s cheeks, appreciating the scruff of stubble against his fingertips. He tipped his chin up, making a silent offering to God, or Allah, or whoever, for Mustafa to take the hint.
Mustafa tilted his head down, his warm breath heating Sammy’s lips a moment before impact. Mustafa’s lips met his with unexpected force and voracity. Sammy melted into the kiss, opening his mouth and letting Mustafa take the lead. His mouth tasted like cinnamon and cloves and his neck like spicy pine aftershave, salty skin, and a hint of soap. Sammy trailed his fingers through Mustafa’s thick hair. He found a long, thin scar. Mustafa hissed against his throat.
“Sorry.”
“Healed, but still tender,” Mustafa said.
As an act of contrition, Sammy traced Mustafa’s jaw from hairline to chin. Then, he lifted Mustafa’s chin to the perfect angle for another kiss. This one was softer and slower, the type of kiss that made his jeans feel too tight.
Mustafa moved them away from the door and pointed to the food on the desk.
“My apologies,” he said, taking a step back. “You should eat.”
“I’m hungry for something else,” Sammy said.
Mustafa laughed. “Dessert, maybe?” Despite the joke, Mustafa forgot to smile. His expression was somewhere between pleading and hopeful, his brown eyes dark.
Sammy resumed his meal, chewing furiously on two pieces of steak at a time. He chased them with water until his plate was empty. He handed the plate of fries to Mustafa.
Mustafa perched on the bed with his boots hanging over the side. Sammy climbed on top of the comforter to sit next to him. Mustafa fed him a fry, and he returned the favor. They were cold, but crunchy.
“No ketchup?” Mustafa asked.
“No time.” Sammy frowned at the fried potatoes still on the plate. “I want something warm.”
“I would heat them up in the microwave downstairs, but Karadzic’s men are in the kitchens.”
Sammy shook his head. “I don’t mean these.” He grabbed the plate and leaned across Mustafa to set it on the nightstand. Then he straddled Mustafa’s legs.
Mustafa grunted in surprise.
“Time for dessert,” Sammy said, cupping Mustafa’s face again and leaning in for a kiss. Mustafa opened his mouth for Sammy’s tongue. Sammy rocked in time with his heart, fucking Mustafa’s mouth with his tongue. Mustafa kicked off his boots and sank lower on the bed, taking Sammy with him. Sammy’s body followed the rhythm of his tongue. He ground against Mustafa through their clothes. Mustafa broke the kiss, panting.
“Too many clothes.”
“I don’t have condoms,” Sammy mumbled.
“We won’t need condoms,” Mustafa promised, gesturing with his hand.
Sammy wanted that hand on him. He stripped out of his T-shirt and jeans, leaving him in boxers and socks. Mustafa kepthis socks on, too, and his sexy gray briefs with Calvin Klein around the waistband.
“Cute, McFly.”
