Page 22 of Undercover Star
Matisse's bed was a huge, custom-built number, and tangled together as they were, they occupied a bare fraction of the available space. Matisse was fine with that.
Being the closeted workaholic he was, Matisse didn't see much bedroom action. Most of it involved a porn clip and his right hand. He used to have a few mates—same industry, equally cagey about coming out—with whom he'd fooled around when he'd been younger. In recent years, they'd drifted apart as work commitments and interests diverged. Finding himself flat on his back with Josh's bulk pressing him into the mattress was the kind of bliss he revelled in. Having a partner who paid attention to what turned Matisse on was even better. Something to remember when he was alone again.
He wasn't in a fit state to string four thoughts together. Mostly because Josh teased both Matisse's ears and his nipples. He could even do both at once, and the heat in Matisse's gut threatened to set the bed on fire. He slid his hands over Josh's broad back and felt the muscles ripple as he moved. Josh's arse was as tight as it had looked when he'd turned to shut the door of Montgomery's office.
Matisse took hold of two handfuls and squeezed before he arched up and pulled Josh's hips down. Hard cock slid against hard cock, and Matisse bit his lips to muffle his groan. Only for Josh to stop moving and raise his head. The dark eyes were pitch black now, glittering with lust almost out of control, but his lips curled up at the corners, and when he brushed them over Matisse's, the touch was soft and gentle.
"Don't hide." He whispered his request. "Let me hear your pleasure. Tell me what you want."
Another novelty in Matisse's limited experience. Talk during sex? Not something he was used to unless it was a variation offuck meandharder. But if this was what Josh liked, he'd go along with it. He stroked his palms up Josh's chest and teased a button.
"Clothes off. I want skin."And I don't want to cream my briefs like a twelve-year-old.
Josh grinned as if he'd heard that, too. His shirt came off with more haste than decorum; his evening trousers and briefs followed right after. Then he leaned down and yanked Matisse's jeans off him, while Matisse scrambled to get the T-shirt over his head without stopping to ogle Josh. Even with the fresh bandage marring the look, Josh was gorgeous. The bulging muscles, defined six-pack, and tightly curled dark hair on his chest made Matisse shiver in anticipation. And he looked at Matisse as if he were the most wondrous thing he'd ever seen.
Matisse moaned when Josh stroked from his ankles all the way up to his chest in one long, mind-blowing caress. Heat followed the touch, pooling where Josh settled his hands, and burned out of control when calloused thumbs started to tease his sensitive nipples.
"Do you wax your chest?"
Matisse's mind clumsily chased the meaning of those words, while Josh's fingers stroked his skin and distracted him. "God no," he finally managed. "I had laser treatment growing up."
"Is that a thing?"
"No idea. I had notions of taking my shirt off on stage and didn't want a hairy chest. What can I say? Young and stupid."
"As if you're old now."
"I'm twenty-six."
"Toddler."
Matisse was glad Josh hadn't called himbaby. It would have sounded too much like an endearment, and Matisse wasn't sure he could handle this right now. He surged up and wrapped his arms around Josh's neck, pulled him down to the bed, and arched up with a groan to make their groins meet.
"That's some move." Josh's chuckle turned into a gasp when Matisse rolled his hips, teasing both their hard cocks with the promise of friction. He crashed their mouths together and talk ceased to be important.
Matisse revelled in each touch, each kiss. He followed willingly where Josh led, giving himself up to pleasure as he rarely did, and when Josh wrapped a hand around both their erections and jerked them off together, he surrendered the last of his control.
––––––––
JOSH HADN'T WOKEN INany bed except his own for over four years. Waking with a warm body draped over him was an equally rare occurrence. He didn't have to guess where he was. The events of the previous night, from the gala to the fight to everything that had come after, were crystal clear in his mind.
He shouldn't have kissed Matisse. Shouldn't have let himself be provoked by those flashing eyes and damned endless legs. His cock chose that moment to remind him he hadn't yet had the pleasure of feeling those legs wrapped around his waist, and he swallowed a groan.
Last night had been a mistake. A taste of something not for him.
Matisse Vervein was a star, someone who had fans and minders, who couldn't have a normal life even if he wanted to. Josh hadn't understood that before. The fans outside the radio station, the crowd waiting at the gates to Kilbride House the previous night, even the way someone as haughty as Penelope Levington sought Matisse out had educated him in the differences between commoners and stars.
Added to that, Matisse wasn't out. Couldn't be out if he wanted to keep pleasing his fans. And Josh, for all that he'd cut himself off and hidden himself away since Paul's death, didn't aspire to be anyone's dirty little secret.
Best to end this delightful interlude right now and move on.
Josh slid out from under the sleeping star, wincing when the cut in his side reminded him of its existence. He'd not noticed it at all while he'd grappled with Matisse, nor when they'd tangled up together to go to sleep. Matisse had been a most effective distraction. Now it was morning, and there weren't any glass slippers to fit either of them.
He padded into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, judging from the cupboard dedicated to coffee-making paraphernalia that Matisse preferred it as his morning wakeup call. When he took two mugs into the bedroom, Matisse was mostly awake and sitting up against the headboard.
"Can I take a quick shower?"
"You can take a long one, if you want. I'll find you something to wear that isn't a tux."
