Page 35 of Dedicated

“Yeah, like ‘eh, this is okay’ or ‘yes definitely’?”

I twisted around to try and catch a glimpse of his face, because it struck me as such an unusual question coming from him. I thought he just wanted to hear some kind of verbal confirmation of what he was visibly doing to me. Because there was no fucking way he couldn’t know or couldn’t see the evidence trying to leap out of my pants. His eyes were glassy, cheeks tinged with color, and his tongue darted out to swipe his lower lip as his brows winged up, silently prodding me.

“Yes, definitely.” I kept my voice as even as I could.

He nodded and lifted up on his knees again, tackling my shoulders with the downward force of his body through his arms. When I let my head droop forward, I noticed a tiny wet spot on my sweats where my cock was plastered to the fabric, and I wondered if that was the cause of the curse that slipped from his mouth next.

The whole ambience transformed in an instant.

I lifted my hips at the same time Les’s hands landed on the waistband of my sweats. He shoved them down below my knees, then pulled me back against him, between his thighs. Resting his chin on my shoulder, he ran a hand down over my chest, then my stomach, stopping before he reached my cock. His breath tickled the side of my neck as he spoke, but there was no mistaking the desire in the velvety roll of his voice. “You want me to touch you?”

I figured the fact that my dick was twitching was answer enough, but apparently that didn’t cut it. He wrapped his hand around me and gave my shaft a single, excruciatingly tight stroke that almost had me coming off the couch for more before he released me suddenly. My dick protested the brush-off with another hard twitch, a thick bead of precum squeezing from my slit.

“You want me to jack that fat cock, then you fucking say it.”

I gritted my teeth and reached for his hand, but he swatted me away. “Goddammit, quit fucking around and jack me before common sense catches up with my dick.”

He rumbled, a sound that was caught between laughter and purr. “Not gonna happen this time, sweetheart; I’m one step ahead. I’m about to get you off so fucking hard you’ll be Jell-O.”

“You always such a cocky fuck when it comes to sex?”

“Besides music, it’s the only thing I know I do well.”

It’d be funny if it wasn’t so true, because when he gripped me again, his fist gliding along my length and twisting deftly at the top, it was fucking perfect. The pressure, the friction, everything. He pushed his thumb against my lower lip, and I opened to him automatically, taking it into my mouth and sucking while he growled against my throat. He dragged his wet thumb down my chin and then rubbed it over my head a few times, making me writhe.

“Spit.” He cupped his palm under my chin, and when I hesitated, he said. “Don’t think about it, just do it.”

So I did. Then his hand was back on my cock, slick and hot and driving me mad.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come just getting you off,” he whispered, and nipped at my earlobe.

I shuddered out a breath as his hand twisted over me, my hips chasing every stroke, his breath hot against my neck and his dick pulsing against my back. He stroked me slow, then fast, hard then soft until I was half-crazed at the variation, my orgasm constantly yanked to the foreground, then shoved to the background until there was nowhere left for it to go, and no matter how he touched me, I was about to explode.

I panted, letting my head fall back to his shoulder, and he braced his legs around my hips. His teeth sank into my shoulder, my collarbone, my neck, and I arched every time into his hand, nearly whimpering with the need for release. I was never fucking like this, had neverbeenlike this with anyone else—almost feral with how turned on I was, how much I ached over what he was doing to me, how perfectly he read my body.

“God,” I grated out. I sounded desperate and whiny and so unlike myself. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” And then I couldn’t stop talking, telling himharder,fasteron harsh, guttering breaths. Les was right there with me, breath coming heavy and fast in my ear as he whispered filthy encouragements—how hard I was, how good I felt in his fist. And when he gripped my balls in his other hand and told me to give him the load I was holding back, I fucking lost it. My thighs quaked with the full-body shudder that coursed through me, and I blew hot in his hand to a string of curses he whispered against my throat. I felt the hard press of him against my back as my orgasm rolled through me, and then a bloom of wet heat as he came with muffled groan.

His legs sprawled on either side of me as we both went limp and collapsed backward into the sofa, the harsh rise and fall of his chest lifting me up and down.

After a few minutes, I rolled off to one side, hiking my pants back up over my ass and tossing my T-shirt to him so he could mop himself off.

“Shit.”

“What?” I glanced at him in alarm.

“You came all over Bowie’s face.”

I looked down at the records scattered over the floor and there, streaked across Bowie’s softly focused expression on the record sleeve ofYoung Americans, was a streamer of cum. My eyes went wide, and Les rolled off the couch, racked with laughter.

“Oh hell.” I reached down and swiped at the record sleeve. “Fitting tribute?”

“Absolutely.”

An hour passed.Two. We’d cleaned up and worked on some songs, blithely glossing over what had happened earlier. Patches of uncomfortable silence were interspersed with comfortable conversation. All of it felt inherently unsteady, like the way Les’s coffee mug was sitting at the very edge of the table, one clumsy movement from tipping over. That was more or less what the past six months had felt like, too. So when Les blew out a long breath, shoved his guitar aside, and sprawled on his side on the floor near me, saying, “We have to talk about this,” I was relieved this time instead of angry. Maybe I’d needed that orgasm more than I thought, because I was definitely calmer now. I’d also spent the last half hour reliving the feeling of him getting me off and wondering how and if I could make it happen again.

“Have you always been into guys?”

That wasn’t what I expected, though, so it took me a minute to reframe my mindset. All the while, he studied me passively. Not hurrying me, just patient interest.