Page 40 of Undercover Star
Matisse really had made all the running so far. He might be hiding who he was from his fans, he might not say the words, but every single one of his actions showed that he cared.
Josh reached for Matisse, wrapped him into a hug, and kissed him. Slow and sweet and relentless, until Matisse leaned into him with a sigh.
"You're so young, Mat," Josh said when he drew back. He cupped Matisse's cheek and ran his thumb over his lips. "A baby compared to—"
"Bullshit. I'm twenty-six."
"What I just said. I'm six years older."
A corner of Matisse's mouth quirked up, and he rubbed his palm over the impressive bulge in Josh's trousers. "Then you should have a fairly good idea what to do with this. Right?"
Josh groaned at the touch. He'd had a hard time—pun intended—in the shower. Mat was so enticing, so open in his regard for Josh, and so honest in his want, Josh had struggled not to pin him to the tiles and take what he was offered. Had Matisse taken his restraint for rejection?
"I have all sorts of ideas. Some of them might have you run screaming from the room."
"I really doubt that." Matisse pulled himself a little closer against Josh. "Unless you're intimately acquainted with the guys designing my stage shows, that is. The ideas they come up with... now those make me run screaming more often than not."
"I'm not an easy guy to be around," Josh cautioned.
"Well, hello, newsflash! Neither am I. I'm not out. I work silly hours. I have fans and reporters scrutinise every move I make. Do you really think that makes it easy being with someone? I'm not even sure I'm trying to start anything. But, Josh, this is my sanctuary, the one place where I can be myself, where I don't have to look over my shoulder. Where I don't have to please anyone but myself. I don't bring strangers here. I don't even bring many friends. But I want the memory of us. Here. Now. Is that so much to ask?"
Josh didn't bother looking for the right words. He took Matisse's mouth and the fire in their kiss was both answer and promise.
Chapter Twelve
They drew it out, madedinner a lengthy affair of comforting food, searching questions, and glances that teased and tangled. Josh quizzed Matisse mercilessly about his work and, almost by osmosis, understood Matisse's need to buy an island. After dinner, they moved proceedings to the huge squashy sofa in front of the fireplace, sharing wine and confidences until Josh hauled Matisse into his lap to trade kisses rather than words.
Josh would have been content to keep kissing, would have been happy to do anything with Matisse, really. He couldn't get enough of the man in his lap, of Matisse's addictive taste, heightened by the excellent red wine they were sharing. He stripped Matisse's hoodie and T-shirt off him, ran his hands almost reverently over the sleekly muscled back and up Matisse's ribs, desperate to find out whether Matisse's nipples were as sensitive as he remembered.
He'd never expected this, the breathless demand to "Get the fuck in me, now!"
The bedroom seemed too far away, but they made it in a tangle of mouths and limbs, and the bed was as insanely large as the one in Matisse's apartment.
It was the last rational thought Josh had for a while. He busied himself stripping the jeans off Matisse. Having Matisse all naked and pressed against him while he was fully dressed was a definite turn on. He laid Matisse out on the bed, intent on finding all his most sensitive spots and all the caresses that drove him wild.
They kissed and laughed and wrestled Josh out of his borrowed clothes, and Matisse was a cheeky tease, clearly enjoying what he did to Josh and what Josh was doing to him. Their one, adrenaline-fuelled encounter seemed to have taken all the awkwardness from their interaction. They'd never done more than rubbed off on each other, and yet they moved as if they'd been lovers for years, caressing to inflame and teasing to prolong the pleasure.
