Page 49 of Undercover Star
Josh had no idea whether he was reviewing his performance or planning the next one, and it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Matisse—his Mat, right there. He drank in the sight of Matisse—barefoot and bare-chested, arse and legs hugged tight by black leather, and blond hair a damp, frizzy halo—and called himself all the names in the book for almost letting this perfection, this chance at something amazing, slip from his grasp.
"Mat."
The singer froze where he stood. The bottle slipped from his fingers. And when he turned his head, fear was written across his features, plain as day.
Two long steps took Josh across the room. He wrapped his arms around Matisse and held him close. "Your concert was amazing," he whispered. "Youwere amazing. And... God, I've missed you!"
"You didn't call. Or even text. Or—"
"I know. I'm sorry. I'm a jerk. I didn't understand how much of yourself you put into your work."
"As much as you do."
"More. Much, much more." He slid his fingers under Matisse's chin and turned his face up for a kiss. Soft, reverent even, appreciating what he'd thought he'd never have again. "And I love you, too. With all my heart."
Matisse flushed crimson. "I shouldn't have— But I thought— And—"
The next kiss was desperate. A clash of lips and tongues, of hard moans and short, sharp gasps. Josh's grip on Matisse's biceps was hard enough to bruise. The remnants of fear sleeted through him, the sudden realisation of what he had been prepared to give up. What he'd been prepared to sacrifice for his pride. It would take time until his mind could accept that Matisse was still his. Until then, he'd have this and—
"Don't. I'm all sweaty."
Josh grabbed hold of Matisse's hips and boosted him onto the dressing table. He jerked the leather-clad thighs apart to make space for himself. "Doesn't matter," he said while he pulled their hips together. "Doesn't matter one whit."
Matisse was gorgeous. Flushed, sweating, aroused, and all his. Josh wasn't going to waste a second to remind him of that fact. He slid a hand into Matisse's hair, holding him still while he devoured his mouth. His thumb rubbed circles around Matisse's nipple, until Matisse arched into his touch and moaned into his mouth.
Their kiss grew harder. Josh pinched and twisted the nipple he'd stroked, and took a tighter grip on Matisse's hair. Mat's hips pulsed up into his. He was hard, and getting desperate.
"I could fuck you right here, right now," Josh growled, licking a stripe down Matisse's long neck.
"God. Please. Yes."
"But I won't."
Glassy blue eyes blinked at him, confusion in their depths.
"Let me take the edge off for you. Then you'll shower and come home with me. I'll feed you, and we can talk."
"That's all you want? Talk?"
"No." Josh cupped Matisse's jaw. He brushed a soft, barely there kiss over the swollen lips. "Iwantyou to come to my bed and let me show you how much I've missed you. Iwantto make love to you, over and over, until every inch of you knows you belong with me. That's what I want."
"Okay." Matisse's voice was whisper-soft, but it was enough. Josh went back to kissing him, then slowly nibbled his way south, sucking, licking, teasing until Matisse wrapped his fingers into Josh's short hair and shoved his head down where he needed him.
Josh laughed, delighted with the response, and went to his knees. He yanked the leather trousers halfway down Matisse's thighs and took hold of his straining cock. He licked a long stripe up the underside, then suckled the tip into his mouth. This... this was what he'd missed, that mix of musk and green tea body wash, of sweat, and heat, and pure Matisse.
"Josh, please."
Matisse sounded tortured, and Josh wasn't evil enough to draw this out. There would be time for teasing later. For both of them. Josh ignored his own wants for the moment. He swallowed his lover down to the root and revelled in the strangled shout he got for his efforts. Encouraged, he bobbed his head and set a steady rhythm, watching Matisse come unglued in front of him. When Mat's unbroken moans signalled that he was close to coming apart, Josh drew back for a few seconds and slipped a finger into his mouth.
"Shhh," he soothed Mat's complaint at the sudden loss of contact. "I'm not gonna leave you hanging." He returned to his task, added to the stimulation by rubbing his slick fingertip over Matisse's entrance while he sucked harder. Matisse let his head fall back against the wall and arched up in a way that his fans would have paid money to see. Josh didn't temper his ministrations. He laved and suckled, until Mat bucked under him, and finally shouted in alarm. And Josh pushing his fingertip inside while he swallowed around Matisse sent his lover flying.
––––––––
"WE MAY HAVE TO REQUESTa soundproof dressing room next time, but seeing how quickly you got all of us out of the venue...." Oats wore a big grin when Josh followed Matisse from the dressing room. Mat was heavy-lidded and languid, walking where Josh's hand guided him. "Never seen him like this. Usually after a gig, he bounces around like shit on a hot shovel. My wife won't know what hit her if I'm home before breakfast."
"Agreed," Rigger growled from in front of them. "We should hire him."
"No." Matisse disagreed. "Nobody gets to hire him. He's mine."
