Page 27 of Shades of Henry
“I amsofeeling that meatball,” Lance said, saturating his voice with all of the sexiness he probably wouldnotbe putting into it when he went in to film in two days. “Oh, Henry, eat that fuckin’ meatball!”
Henry waggled his eyebrows and took another bit of meat on his fork. “Like this? Do you want me to eat it again?”
“Oh yes! Yes! Eat that meat some more!”
“With sauce this time, Lance? You want some sauce on that?”
“Give me all your sauce! And noodles! Oh God, slurp my fuckin’ noodles!”
Henry did, sucking on them slowly, making sure the sauce dripped temptingly down his chin. When he was done, he stuck out a surprisingly long pink tongue and caught the last drop before it drizzled too far, and that was as far as Lance could take the joke before he kissed him, straddled him, took his grim mouth and made it swollen and ripe with kisses. Before he worshipped the strong column of Henry’s neck, nibbled on his collarbone, showed him what sex could be like with someone who didn’t just know what he was doing but who believed sex was magic to boot….
Or, uhm, cracked up.
Lance covered his mouth with his hand, closed his eyes, and laughed. Because that other vision had been so close, so tantalizing, so real, and if he didn’t laugh, he’d reach out his hands to touch the thing that would burn him the worst.
“Hey, wait, is that spaghetti?” Zeppelin was coming out of his bedroom, Fisher at his heels.
“Forget spaghetti,” Fisher said, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “Was thatsex? I could have sworn I heard sex!”
Henry grinned and winked at Lance. “Nope,” he said, taking another bite. “The only noodle getting slurped here was spaghetti.”
The guys cracked up too, and Henry invited them to dish up and come sit down to eat before asking about their day. Behind them, Lance lowered his forehead to bang it repeatedly on the table when Henry couldn’t see, because never before had spaghetti gotten so close to getting out of hand.
“LANCE!” DEXcalled, effectively ending the scene. “What are you doing?”
Lance had to think a minute, and then Kent, his partner in the scene, thrust his cock into Lance’s mouth, and Lance was suddenly in the present.
“Gimminf m bwwmb?”
Kent withdrew and tagged him playfully on the back of the head. “Nice guess, but no cigar and no blowjob. No dick either. Jesus, Lance, it’s like your eyes rolled back in your head and you went somewhere else.”
Lance sat up in bed, feeling suddenly naked and wrong about it, when it hadn’t ever bothered him before. “Sorry, guys. Not sure where my brain went.” He smiled greenly at Kent. “I was sort of looking forward to this too.” God, he’d needed to get laid in the worst way—because his sexual fantasies about Henry Worrall were consuming his every waking minute.
But Kent didn’t know that. Kent was a giant blond tank of a guy, with thick muscular thighs, a chest almost as wide as Bobby’s, and a seven-inch cock the width of a soda can.
If you were into sex-for-pay, Kent was a wet dream—or at least a wet workday.
Kent ruffled his hair. “You’re probably hungry,” he declared practically. “I know I’m starving. Here—we only just started. Go think the dirty, do what you gotta, we can regroup in five, ’kay?”
Dex cleared his throat, and Lance had to laugh.
“Is he taking your job, Dex?”
Dex checked the camera and set it down on a nearby desk put there mostly for that very reason. This set onlylookedlike a bedroom.
“He is, sort of, but it’s good advice.”
“You gonna fluff for me, Dex?” Kent asked with a wink.
Dex rolled his eyes. “Not my job anymore, you horny bastard. Don’t you have a boyfriend watching?”
Conrad was a sweet guy, with thinning hair, fish lips, and a wicked sense of humor. Kent adored him, and Conrad? Conrad watched his boyfriend fuck on set all day and apparently went home and got his rocks off with style.
Lance was all for whatever turned guys on.
Sensual, consensual, healthy—sex could besucha good thing.
Or at least it could be in a controlled environment, with partners who agreed to the same terms. If there weren’t any emotions involved.
