Page 52 of Dedicated

There’d once been a week where Les followed me around with his phone, reading highlights from posts about him in the groupie forums just to annoy me.Beautiful cock, wicked mouth, devil’s hands, but what he can do with it all is even better.

I didn’t know why that specific comment had stuck with me. I’d laughed it off at the time, told him I doubted that was the case, but I thought of it then as Les kneeled in front of me, so in his element, turning me inside out one touch at a time. He somehow managed to be both appreciative and commanding, both dirty and sweetly sensual all at once, and fuck if that crazy combination didn’t make me a believer.

“Ready?” He kissed the inside of my thigh and stood up, stroking himself, eyes blazing down at me, burning me up, driving me out of my head with arousal.

I nodded because I couldn’t speak. I was all shivers and jolts and tremors of pleasure.

“Good, because you’re going to give me what I want. What Ineed. Because you’re wrong. There’s no difference for me when it comes to you, Porter. I want you. I need you. Same thing.”

Holy mother of God, he was going to kill me with the sincerity leaking from his tone, the vibrant intensity of his green eyes. I was starstruck, moonstruck, whatever it was you called the almost otherworldly euphoria rushing through me.

Les fit a condom over himself and crawled onto the bed, urging me back from the edge as he knelt over me and swallowed my panting breaths in a deep kiss. At the brush of his tip teasing my hole, and I moaned, ache and nerves rolled up in one big ball of scorchingneed.

“Fuck. Do it,” I whispered into his mouth, desperate.

A burning fullness, that was what I felt first, and it seemed infinite, made my lips peel back from my teeth and my forehead break out in a sweat that Les soothed his hand over. His gaze fixed on me, watching every reaction intently even as his mouth dropped open and he groaned out a sound like he was breaking. “Oh God, you have no idea how much I—” He pressed a hard kiss into my shoulder, then my throat, and I curled one hand through the strands of his hair and clutched his ass tightly with the other, squeezing him to show I could handle it.

Les moved inside me slowly, inexorably slowly, like he was patiently waiting for my body to catch up with what was going on. Which was good because I struggled at first, the pressure uncomfortable, the fullness overwhelming. I tried to keep my breaths measured as he seated himself deep inside me and went still. He kissed my lower lip, sucked on my tongue and began moving inside me again—slow even strokes that rolled through my body like the best kind of wave, pleasure breaking over me. I was so turned on I couldn’t think coherently, couldn’t make my mouth function other than to kiss him. But that was all right because he said enough for both of us when he whispered my name and told me how good it felt. And finally, everything settled into place and my body opened fully to him.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded.

I reached between us to fist my cock, and God did the twin sensations of my hand and Les inside me feel incredible. My hips moved instinctively, rocking me into my hand, rocking me onto him, and with my other hand, I tugged at the roots of his hair with every thrust, drawing gasps and grunts and other lewd sounds from him that sent me spiraling toward orgasm.

Les braced on his arms, gaze fixated on the place where our bodies joined, watching as I stroked myself faster. The smack of skin on skin filled the air, and I could tell he was close. I’d seen that look on his face before, that lost-to-the-world, jaw-hanging ode to explicit pleasure. This time, it was because of me, and I couldn’t take one more second of being devoured by it. A shudder ran through my thighs, and Les grabbed my hips, bending in close to me and growling out against my lips. “Want it. Lemme feel you come apart.”

I was toast. I blew apart at the seams with a shout, clutching a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back as my orgasm turned me end over end inside and exploded from the tip of my cock in hot streaks that painted my abs and chest. Les dropped down on top of me, wrapping his hands under my shoulders and sealing his body tightly to mine.

“Goddamn, Porter,” he gritted out as he pummeled my channel through a series of aftershocks. I felt him tense up, his cock pulsing inside me, and he dug his fingers into the meat of my shoulders as he came on a guttural moan.

I couldn’t move and I didn’t want to. I soaked in the feeling of him as he grew heavy on top of me. We slowly extricated ourselves from the various ways we were tangled, in no hurry. I let my fingers drift from his hair and trickle down the side of his face in a soft caress.

Les released his grip on my shoulders but kept his arms around me as he kissed the side of my throat and then my jaw. I wrapped an arm low around his waist and sighed when he eased out and rolled off me and onto his back beside me. He put his hands up to his face, rubbing at his cheeks. “Fuck, I think you just destroyed me.”

“Same.” He really had no idea. I laughed and touched the stickiness on my chest as he snapped the spent condom off and laid it across his thigh. “I don’t think I can move.” My cock softened and my breathing slowed, and drowsiness hit like a sledgehammer.

Les knotted the condom and tossed it onto the floor, rolling into me. “Good, because I don’t want you going any-fucking-where.”

I didn’t want to go anywhere, either. Ever. I wanted to stay in this room cocooned in the deep sense of intimacy between us, safe from the outside world, safe from tours and albums and sales reports. Safe, even, from me.

Do you have any idols?

Les:Daniel Grim.

Evan:Is he aware of how intense your crush on him is?

Les:He has to be. I’ve been around him drunk too many times. Answer the question, who’s your idol?

Evan:Probably Johnny Cash.

Les:Ugh. What a standard answer. Give ’em something good. C’mon.

Evan:All right. You.

Les:What? Really?

Evan:No. [Laughing] I had to drag you away from a hot dog cart the other night while you were singing Meatloaf at the top of your lungs.

Les:Psht. I’ll bet you ten bucks Cash did that at least once.