Page 67 of Sycopation
“Yeah?” He couldn’t keep the cocky snarl out of his voice. “Must be nice.”
“Sometimes it was. Other times it was absolute hell.” He paused. “You’re the most talented musician I’ve ever known. You’re certainly one of the hardest working. And you have never, ever sung sharp in any of our concerts.”
The bus swam around Ray and his lungs burned. “Fuck you.” He threw the words out like a shield, something to block the openness in Zavier’s expression, the honesty.
Those damn thumbs again, smoothing over flesh. Soothing his pain away along with his tears. “You know I’m not lying.”
Ray pressed his lips closed. He wanted to shake his head, but Zavier held him, like a soft, velvet vise. Hands, words, and looks. He was, both literally and figuratively, naked before the man.
“This was supposed to be sex,” Ray croaked.
Zavier chucked. “Oh, we’ll get to that, but I need to know you’re okay first.”
“I’m okay.”
Another chuckle. “There’s something else I know, besides the fact that you’re a damned excellent vocalist and songwriter. Do you know what it is?”
Couldn’t shake his head, so he glared at Zavier. “No.”
“Carl Roberts is a fucking liar. Just about every sentence that waste of space utters is false and designed to undermine you, cut you down, and make you second guess yourself.”
A shudder ran through Ray, like a chill, but so much deeper. Ice in his bones. “Why?” The question burst out of his soul.
Once more, Zavier’s thumbs eased the pain erupting in Ray. A simple motion. Intimate. “I don’t know. I can’t figure him out. But he lies, Ray. Helies. Don’t trust anything he says.” Finally, Zavier slipped his hands from Ray’s face. “When we stood on stage, after the encore, how did you think the concert went?”
“It was the best we’ve ever done.” His throat was so dry, but he didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break whatever spell had Zavier kneeling here with him. “Absolutely amazing.”
A slow nod from Zavier. “Yeah. I felt it, too. We clicked and everything went higher. And the fans...” He got a distant, haunted look, before focusing back on Ray. “I bet you anything the press will contradict Carl.”
“The label exec seemed happy, but Carl...”
“Lies.”
Maybe. Yeah. The knot Ray had been carrying in his stomach since his talk with Carl eased. If the press loved them and the fans loved them, then that would impress the label, too. “Do you think we can play a show like that again?”
“Yes.” That one word was absolute, and it slid over Ray like he wanted Zavier’s hand to.
He shivered. “I trust you.”
“Now you do.” Zavier’s tone had shifted to something deeper. Rich and dark. His smile matched, and a spark of lust flamed in Ray.
He swallowed. “What now?”
“Now?” Zavier cocked his head. “Now you undo the first button on my shirt.”
Ray’s pulse ticked up and his cheeks warmed. Even more when Zavier lifted an eyebrow. He leaned forward, too aware of the motion of the bus and the huff of Zavier’s breath. He did as he’d been told.
Before he could sit back, Zavier whispered, “And the next.”
When he’d undone the second button, lips grazed his neck. “Keep going.”
Oh god. Every part of Ray heated and his cock was hardening with Zavier’s every breath against his skin. He kept going until Zavier’s shirt was open in front.
“Push it off.”
He did, and the skin beneath his hands was hot and smooth. Fabric slipped off those shoulders, revealing all of Zavier’s ink. Every line, figure, color, and swirl. Ray wanted to mouth those shoulders, kiss the knotwork on Zavier’s pecs.
Zavier shrugged the shirt off his wrists. “Sit back on your heels.”
