Page 4 of The Long Refrain (Sweet Southern #4)

4

NOLAN

FEbrUARY 2027

M aking new music is the only good part of this hell called fame. All the tours, every meet and greet, and every magazine cover all take a small piece of my soul until one day, there will be nothing left at all. But every new record recaptures a part of me that I always worry will be lost forever.

I wrap up, laying down one of the final album tracks, and leave the recording room behind with a deep breath. Chris sits on one of the couches, a pleased-as-punch grin on his usually tight lips. Of all the managers in the world, I was lucky to land one that isn’t a piece of shit, but I still only trust him as far as I can throw him.

“It sounded good!” Chris says gleefully, his eyes sparkling.

“I’ll love it until I have to sing it a million times in front of crowds that make me want to chop my own arm off,” I complain as I toss myself onto the sofa beside him.

“It was good,” Mike, my producer, points out with a small smile under his long beard. “You beat yourself up too much, kiddo.” He skips around and plays the chorus of “No Longer Here” with a small divot between his brows. “This part could use some heavier guitar though. Are you good with me bringing Clive back in to lay it down?”

I wave him off. “Whatever you think it needs.”

Mike bends back over the board, messing around with the track that I love but I know I’ll hate in only a few months. That’s the way it goes. I write a song, love it, record it down, and then hate it for the rest of my life.

Chris taps my leg with his phone to get my attention. “Benji’s back at your house.”

My face goes hot at just the thought of another weekend with Benji. “How long is he here for?”

“Open-ended,” Chris answers as he types away at his phone.

“What?” That can’t be right.

Chris shrugs. “Let me know when to send him packing. You’re out here for a few more weeks and you’re making good headway on the album. You deserve a break. Maybe it’ll help you get your brain back in the game too.”

“Maybe.”

Sometimes I think the only way to get my head back in the game is to take my head off, empty it out, and screw it back on. But I don’t say that to Chris because I don’t want him to worry more than he already does. The label has already thrown around mental health retreats a few times after I got sober a few years ago. Back when I was drinking, everything was so much easier. Using liquor to kill all the worst parts of myself off so that I couldn’t even remember most days. They’re lucky I can still write now that I’m sober.

Nerves roll through me as I drive back to my house tucked away in the Hills. The sky darkens the further up the hills the car goes, as the lights from the city bleed away. When I pull through the open gate, I notice a few lights are already on inside, indicating that Chris was telling the truth, and that Benji is waiting for me inside.

I sit silently in the car for a few moments, gathering myself. Steadfastly avoiding the mirror, I run my fingers through my hair, hoping that it’s not a rat's nest after today's recording session. Alright, time to go inside and get fucked mindless.

The alarm system beeps as I step quietly through the front door. For the first time, my house smells like something besides whatever supplies the cleaning crew uses. My stomach growls at the savory smell. God, I can’t remember the last time I ate a full meal. The sizzling sounds of food on the stovetop drags me towards the kitchen. The sight that greets me sends my heart thundering in my chest, my rib cage suddenly ten times too small.

Benji turns his head to take in the sight of me, a small smile tilting up his plush lips. His eyes are just as light blue as I remember, the color of the sky in the early dawn. A few more freckles than I seem to recall him having last year are smattered across his nose. He’s infuriatingly cute, it makes me want to bite him, maybe even kick. Is this cute aggression or just my normal fury?

“Sorry, got hungry waiting,” Benji apologizes sheepishly.

“Help yourself. Mi casa es su casa,” I tease with a sweeping gesture of my arm.

Benji snorts as he returns his attention to the bubbling food on the stovetop. “I’ve made enough for us both. Figured we could eat so we have energy to go all night.”

I wander deeper into the kitchen, only coming to a stop once I’m beside him. He smells the same, like fresh clean sheets, with a hint of something flowery, maybe lavender. A sleepy kind of smell.

“What are you cooking?” I ask, voice small in the large, usually empty kitchen.

Benji grins and dips his head to hide his face from my gaze. “You didn’t have much, so I just threw something together. It’s just garlic, zucchini, chicken, spices, and some noodles I found in your pantry.”

“Smells good,” I tell him, because it does.

Benji shyly meets my gaze. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, make me a bowl. I’m going to go shower the recording studio off of me.”

I can feel Benji’s gaze prickling at the back of my neck as I quickly flee the kitchen. That entire interaction was too much. We should definitely stick to just fucking. The hot water rolls over my skin as I bathe the day away, burning everything about Nolan Hastings from my brain, until I’m just any other man. I spend a few extra minutes prepping for our fuck fest, because I’m a good little bottom. I’m bad at a lot of things, but never that.

By the time I return to the kitchen dressed in just low-slung sweatpants, Benji is plating our dinner. His gaze lifts to slide over me, from my toes, all the way to my messy, still slightly damp hair.

“Dinner’s ready,” Benji says quietly, voice small. He reminds me of a baby bird, terrified of its impending first flight. Good thing I can shove him off the edge without a care in the world.

I take a seat at the dining table with a perfectly respectable grin. Benji falters slightly as he sets the bowl down in front of me, but then he moves to sit opposite me with his own dish of food.

“Thanks, honey,” I say before digging in.

Benji’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t reply to my dig. We eat mostly in silence for a while. The food is good, savory and covered with a layer of cheese that I didn’t even know I had in the fridge. Usually the housekeeping service stocks it on Sundays, tosses everything I didn’t eat the week before, then stocks it again. A repeating cycle of waste. But this is good, and I eat almost half the bowl before falling back in my chair with a groan.

“Who taught you to cook? It’s good.”

Benji licks sauce away from his lip and my stomach clenches with need. Asshole. “My moms.”

“Moms? Plural?” I ask.

Benji nods as he pushes his own plate away. “My moms are lesbians. Mom is Piper and Mama is Juniper.”

I blink slowly at this piece of Benji knowledge that I’ve been gifted. “The lesbians part is cool as hell but those names sure are something.”

Benji chuckles, although the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “They’re old-school hippies. They had me when they were already in their forties.”

“Where’d you grow up?”

Asking Benji about himself is easier than letting him know anything about me. Although, all the details about me are scattered all over the internet. All he has to do is google Nolan Hastings and there’s a feast of information for the entire world to know. Nothing about my life is secret. Except maybe my proclivity to get fucked rough by escorts, but that’s not because the label says I can’t be gay. It’s because maybe, sometimes it’s nice to have something just for myself that not everyone else knows.

“I grew up on a commune in Georgia,” Benji answers easily.

“Come again?”

Benji stands from the table with both of our plates, and heads towards the kitchen to do the dishes. “I said they were hippies.”

“A commune? Like a cult?”

Benji shakes his head with a shocked laugh. “No, not a cult. Just a group of likeminded people that wanted to live the same kind of life. I was homeschooled until I was a teenager and begged to go to the local public school.”

“Huh.”

Benji’s biceps bunch as he scrubs at the plates and suddenly I’ve had enough chitchat. Enough of us playing like we don’t know exactly what’s going to happen this weekend. Pushing back from the table, I stalk over to him with a single-minded mission. I carefully reach around him to slowly turn the faucet off. A smile twitches at the corner of my lips at his light, eager sigh. Bingo.

“Benji,” I say softly.

“Hmm?”

“Can you fuck me now, please?”

Benji turns around between my arms, pressing the small of his back against the counter. He sneaks his hands to my waist, his thumbs pressing hard against my hip bones. Without a single word, he dips down to take my mouth in a gentle, but thorough kiss. The night shifts around us, going from mellow, to knowing, to flat-out needy as I wrap my arms around his neck to tug him closer to me. Benji moans into my mouth and nips hard at my lip, pulling a moan from me.

“What’s on the list this time, huh?”

My brain barely boots back online to understand his question. “What?”

“Well,” Benji says, thumbs sweeping at the skin just under the waist of my sweatpants, “what do you need? Want me to fuck you so hard you can’t remember your own name? Want me to bite you all over until you’re covered in bruises? Want me to fuck you on your hands in knees in front of the fireplace in your bedroom? What does Nolan Hastings want from his escort?”

Rage rolls through me at the use of my full name. Fuck. Some emotion must flicker on my face because Benji’s hand comes up to curl in the hair at the nape of my neck, tugging my head back so I have to fight to keep my gaze on him.

“Maybe you want me to decide?”

“I want you to shut the fuck up,” I tell him, teeth gritted in annoyance.

Benji smiles softly. “No can do. Gotta do a lot of talking to keep fucking for money safe and sane.”

“Who the fuck are you?” I ask as the rage lowers to a simmer.

“The man who’s going to leave you walking funny.” Benji abruptly lets go of me and gives me a gentle shove. I stumble back in confusion, but he only nods towards the stairs. “Go to your room. Hands and knees on the rug in front of the fireplace. I’ll be there in a second.”

“No.”

Benji grins, wide, and just a little mean. “Don’t test me.”

“No,” I repeat, this time unwilling to move.

Benji crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Fine. Then we’re going to talk through our limits. I’ve got your brief, but I want to hear it from you. No hard limits? Bullshit.”

My chest heaves in anger. “Excuse me?”

“Your hard limit is giving up control. You didn’t like me ordering you around just then, did you? What else didn’t you like? If you don’t tell me, then I might repeat it. I’m not much in the mood for unnecessary mistakes.”

Yeah, fuck this guy. I pick up the glass of water on the island, and throw it at the ground so that it shatters into tiny pieces. Water sprinkles the floor, a river flowing through the jagged, broken edges. The rage inside me disappears into a cloud of embarrassed smoke. Turning around in a fury, I flee downstairs to the bedroom. Huffing and puffing, I look for more things I can break. But my bedroom has been carefully curated to be absent of anything breakable.

The soft padding of Benji’s footsteps echoes down the stairs behind me. For some reason, the idea of him not cowering in the face of my tantrum calms me. Most people would flinch and run the other way at my bad behavior. It’s a learned assumption after so many years. Act out, people leave me alone. They don’t look close after I’ve behaved like a toddler with their favorite toy taken away.

Benji pauses just inside the room, hands carefully hidden in the pockets of his sweatpants as if afraid to reach out for me. Good. He should be.

“Don’t speak to me like that in my own home,” I tell him loudly, just barely avoiding a shout.

Benji nods in understanding. “Okay. But you’ve got to tell me what you like, what you don’t. I’ll never know how to give you what you want if you just act out instead of communicating like an adult.”

“Fuck you.”

Benji shakes his head with a tired sigh. “Alright, Nolan.”

I cross the distance between us in a flurry of limbs and my mouth is on his before I can even blink. He tastes like sweet tea. I didn’t even realize I had any in the fridge. Benji backs us up towards the rug and shoves me down until my back hits the ground hard enough to make me gasp, my mouth breaking from Benji’s. His normally light blue eyes are a shade darker, frighteningly intense as he stares down at me in the shimmery orange glow of the warm fire.

He slowly dips down to nuzzle at my throat. Pleasure rolls through me when his lips feather over my pulse. I dig my blunt nails into the bare skin of his back when his teeth bite into my skin hard enough to send my eyes rolling back into my head. Oh yeah, that’s the stuff. He rolls his hips against mine so that our cocks slide together through our clothes. Fuck, he feels so good against me, his heavy weight pushing me down. I’ve missed this so much.

“We need a safe word,” Benji mumbles into the tense air between us.

“No.”

Benji’s eyes flash and his movements freeze. “Yes. Pick one or this stops now. And I have to know you’ll use it. I’m serious.”

Why is this guy always fucking pushing me? His stare is hard, his thighs even harder against the sweaty skin of my own as I wonder if this is really worth a fight. Pick a safe word and get fucked or don’t and lose whatever this is with Benji. Fuck.

“Azure,” I bite out. It’s the color of Benji’s fucking perfect annoying eyes. The last thing I ever want to say.

Benji’s teeth flash white in the dark room just before dipping down to bite at my neck. Fuck. Sharp pain shoots down my arm, sending a dizzying rush of euphoria through me. Benji breaks away from my neck to take my lips in another burning kiss. His tongue slides into my mouth, tangling with my own as his fingers tug at my hair. He rolls his hips again and I have to bite back a whimper that so badly wants to break loose.

“Fuck me, you motherfucker,” I whisper against Benji’s mouth, just before biting down hard on his lip.

Benji’s fingers disappear from my hair to trail over the burning skin of my back. His hands come to rest on my ribs, a seemingly favorite place to rest them. Rising up on his knees, he stares hungrily down at me.

“Lift up,” Benji orders, and for some stupid reason, I obey like a total lemming. He rips off my sweatpants, leaving me nude under his heated gaze. His eyes rake over me as his throat bobs, seemingly overcome while looking at me. Blue gaze locking with mine, the world tilts dangerously sideways.

Benji rolls to standing, muscles flexing with the fluid motion. Stepping out of his own pants, he falls back to his knees between my splayed legs. His large palms slide up my inner thighs in quiet reverence, causing goose bumps to appear in their heavy wake. Benji’s eyes lift back up to meet my questioning gaze.

“Tell me what the tattoos mean?” Benji asks softly as his stare is fixed on the blooming flowers across my ribs.

I swallow roughly against the emotion threatening to choke me. “Life can come from something decaying if you only let it.”

Benji tenderly sweeps his thumbs over the flowers tangled with my ribs. “What’s decaying?”

“Me,” I reply quietly, then tug him down to kiss him once more.

His weight blots out the terror threatening to break free. What I can’t say with words, I say with the silent press of my lips to his mouth. Benji devours my mouth with a single-minded focus as he rolls his hips against mine. My thighs tremble against his from the force of the pleasure rippling through me. His cock is hot and heavy against my own. The memory of him inside me all those months ago comes rushing right back. I need it so bad that I can barely see straight.

I bite his lip hard again until he pulls away from me with a startled hiss. “Fuck me, Benji. Come on. This is your chance. Fuck the rockstar everyone wants. I could have anyone in the world but I’ve got you. Do it.”

Benji growls before kissing me again just to shut me up. A gasp breaks free when he presses two lubed fingers into me, immediately seeking out my prostate like he’s on a mission from God. When I open my eyes to stare at him, I find his hot gaze trained solely on me.

“Don’t look at me.” I shove his face away until I can’t see his stupid puppy dog eyes anymore. Benji bites between my forefinger and thumb, right into the fattiest part of my hand. The pain shocks me into stillness, despite his exploring fingers inside me.

Benji lifts onto his knees again with a pained groan. His left hand presses hard against my stomach to steady himself as he wraps a condom over his cock. Without a single word, he hooks my legs over his shoulders, and pushes into me in one fluid movement. I breathe through the pain, wanting it, needing it to feel like I’m not still stuck on this miserable fucking planet.

Rocking slowly into me, Benji spares me only a few moments to adjust. The pace he sets is so brutal that my teeth crack together from his unforgiving thrusts. I dig my fingers into the skin of his back, raking down so hard that I know he’ll have marks for days. Perfect.

Time ebbs and flows as Benji fucks me in front of the fire, our sweat mingling between us. He rotates between kissing me breathless and biting whatever skin he can reach. Bruises will mar my skin for days, only hidden by the colorful sheen of my tattoos. They hide more sins than I ever thought they would. So many. The years of scars are hidden by beautifully expensive tattoos.

“Can I touch your cock this time?” Benji asks against my mouth. He swipes his tongue along my lower lip until I’m trembling with need beneath him.

“I don’t know, can you?” I retort.

Benji growls again before taking my mouth in a painfully hard kiss. Our teeth knock together as he fights to dominate me, to show me who I belong to. But I belong to no one but myself. Not even this beautiful man fucking me within an inch of my life can own me. Benji abruptly pulls out of me with a loud groan.

“Hey!” I shout as I lift up onto my elbows.

Benji falls between my legs and swallows my cock down as he roughly shoves two fingers inside me. Oh fuck. My brain shuts down at the feeling. Benji uses his other hand to pinch my inner thigh. The weird mix of pleasure and pain skyrockets my orgasm through me. My vision goes black for a solid three seconds until the glow of the fireplace filters back in.

I’m coming slowly back to myself in pieces when Benji straddles my hips with a soft whine. He bites his bottom lip as I stare up at him in stricken awe. His hand flies over his cock, the condom now gone. Pressing one hand beside my head, he looms over me with a pleasure-filled groan. The muscles in his neck are so tense they look like they could snap. He needs to come. I want him to come.

“Do it,” I goad him, knowing he needs to hear me say the words.

Benji squeezes his eyes shut just in time to paint my stomach with his release. The heat of his cum boils my blood, almost making my dick rally with the force of it. Benji presses his sweaty forehead to my chest as he loudly gulps in air.

Benji chuckles darkly. “Fuck.”

“We did, yeah.”

Benji snorts as he slowly rises to his knees. He smears his cum all over my chest, then dips his hands to my ribs to rub the mess all over the flowers he’s weirdly obsessed with. He’s goddamn glorious. I’ve been fucked by a lot of men in my life, but something about Benji is different. Borderline special. And that’s how I know that after this fuck fest, we need a long break before we fuck again. Only time can stop me from developing useless emotions for a man who’s paid to use his body to bring mine pleasure.

Seemingly shocked at his claiming gesture, Benji awkwardly clears his throat and stares listlessly into the fire. Seconds tick by before Benji rises to his feet, holding his hand out for mine.

“Bath time,” Benji urges quietly.

Just like the first time we fucked, Benji guides me to my bathroom, carefully situating me so that I don’t have to look at my reflection. He roots around the jars of bath salts and soaps in the shelf beside my clawfoot tub, coming away pleased with a scent that is hidden from my nosy view. Bright red scratch marks grace the broad expanse of his freckled back. As the warm water fills the tub, so does the soft scent of lavender. The scent is calming and my already tensing muscles slowly relax.

Benji crawls into the tub, crooking his fingers once again to invite me to join him. The biggest deja vu of my life. The fuck might’ve been different, but the caretaking after is so familiar to me even now. I melt against him in the tub, boneless and wrung out after one single good lay.

Maybe a weekend of this on repeat will cure me.

Maybe it won’t.

Who the fuck knows anymore.