Page 27

Twenty-Six

Jensen

T ears well in my eyes as I stand among a crowd of over twenty thousand people, watching the man I love stand alone on a stage and sing a song I listened to him write in the middle of the night just a couple weeks ago. My song .

Leave it to Theo Virgil to confess his love in the most dramatic and grand way possible. I wish I could do the same. I wish I could stand on a stage and tell the world that I love him.

I wish it didn’t have to be a secret. I wish I could run up there right now, wrap my arms around him, and kiss him.

I wish our love wasn’t such an offense to others.

This song is even more beautiful than I remember. Tender and slow. With lyrics that would pull on my heart even if it wasn’t about me.

Isaac has a voice like a scorching campfire that crackles and burns with warmth and texture. As he sings, I close my eyes and I bathe in the sound.

This is when I feel closest to God. This keenness of music and togetherness and harmony. A powerful connection, so visceral it doesn’t even feel like reality.

This was the sensation I chased every Sunday when I went to church growing up.

This song is my new hymn.

Isaac, my god.

When the song wraps up, I open my eyes and they immediately connect with Isaac’s. For just a moment, it feels as if we’re alone. His expression matches mine. I don’t need to say the words that I’m thinking. He can feel them.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

As the crowd cheers, the band comes back out to the stage. They continue to play the rest of their set list. I don’t hear the cruel voices that often pop up inside my head in moments like these. For a few blissful moments, it’s quiet.

At this point, I have Theo Virgil’s set list memorized. As he plays the last song before the encore, I shuffle out of the crowd toward the backstage. I hold up my badge to the bouncer near the exit, and he waves me through. This moment of anxious anticipation is the same after every show, although tonight is a bit different.

Not only did we essentially just say our first “I love yous,” but I’m willing to bet Isaac is as hard as the Eiffel Tower in those jeans, and I can’t wait to get my hands on him. Sometimes it takes over an hour between the end of the show and when we can finally be alone in his trailer, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna wait that long tonight.

After I make my way through the long hallways toward the backstage area, I lock eyes with Isaac. He and the band are about to run back out, the crowd screaming his name, waiting for their encore. It’s dark, and the band runs out to the stage first, but before Isaac can disappear from my sight, I grab his hand and pull him toward me.

For a brief moment, we’re alone. The crowd cheers louder, and I know I only have a few seconds left, so I press him up against the dark cinder block wall and I kiss his lips with ferocity. He growls against my mouth, tugging at my jeans desperately. Reaching down, I grip his raging erection through his pants and he moans louder against me.

“Fuck!” he cries, seeking more desperately needed friction.

But we can’t do this here. I have to tear my mouth away from his and my hand from his crotch.

Panting, I mutter, “Meet me in the greenroom after the show.”

“Dammit. Okay,” he replies, looking dazed. His pupils are blown wide with arousal. With that familiar sheen of sweat he gets when he performs, he looks so sexy it hurts.

I touch his face softly before he heads toward the curtain. The crowd is still screaming wildly, but before he steps out, I call for him.

“Isaac.”

He stops and turns toward me in expectation.

“I love you, too,” I say, and he smiles brightly before giving me that wink he always does and running out onto the stage.

I watch the last two songs from the wings with my arms crossed over my chest and a proud smile on my face. It’s a different show every night, at least for me it is. The first time, I watched as a fan, then as a friend, and now through the lens of a lover.

He is mine, and as long as I am alive, I will keep him. Not Theo Virgil, but Isaac Goode, the young, carefree, and sometimes adorably obnoxious love of my life.

He plays the last song with more energy than ever, smiling brightly, strumming the guitar harder, jumping higher, and just before it ends, I leave the wings in search of the greenroom.

One of the staff points me in the right direction, and when she asks who I am, I simply explain that I’m Theo’s pastor, of course, and after every show, he likes to say a private prayer. She doesn’t ask any more questions, and it’s not technically a lie.

The rooms they provide Isaac after all of his shows are always a little more drab and run-down than I expect them to be. And tonight is no different. The paint on the walls is chipped, the linoleum cracked. There’s an old table with four chairs and a dusty old black leather couch. I pace the room with aroused anticipation. The bottle of lube that I took from Isaac’s tour bus is in my pocket.

I feel like a deviant but in the best way. The last eight days without him have felt like so much longer. It’s like I’ve forgotten the way his body feels. I crave it. I was made for it.

There’s a rumbling of voices in the hallway, which I take to mean the show is over. I’m pacing with excitement when the door finally flies open and Isaac is standing there, chest heaving and eyes wild.

God, he looks so sexy like this. Sweat slicked and flushed from the exertion during the show. His usual dark cowboy hat sits on his head. His black T-shirt clings to his skin and the worn-out flannel hangs from his shoulders.

In a rush, he slams the door shut and locks it behind him with fumbling fingers. Then he’s flying toward me. I gather him up in my arms, kissing him harshly and feeling him clutch tightly to my frame.

The fire that burns between us feels like it could stay ignited forever. I will never tire of his touch or the feel of his body in my hands.

“Fuck, that was the longest show of my life,” he mumbles as he yanks my shirt up to slide his hands against the skin of my chest.

I tear off his flannel and yank up his shirt. He reaches behind his head and pulls his shirt off in one swipe. I do the same before we come back together, skin to skin.

“I was rock hard for that whole fucking show,” he groans as he fumbles with the button on my pants. I jerk open his belt and slide it through the loops.

“So was I,” I reply breathlessly as I cradle his head in my hands and kiss his neck. “But I’m always turned on while watching you.”

Once I have his pants loosened, I slide my hand down the backside, over his ass, teasing down his crack until my fingers brush the flared base of the glass plug, making him shiver.

“Fuck me, I’m ready,” he groans, clutching my arms like his legs have stopped working.

I chuckle with my face in his neck, breathing in the sweat-soaked, musky scent of him. “Not yet, cowboy.”

Isaac is eagerly fighting with my zipper, and once he has it down, he dives his hand into my pants and wraps his fingers around my length. I have to bite my lip to keep from groaning too loud as I hold him in a harsh grip on the back of his neck.

He licks a line up the side of my neck. “What about now?” he mutters through clenched teeth.

“Fuck,” I groan.

Roughly, I spin him around. He has to grab the counter of the vanity for support as I finish undoing my pants and shuffling them down far enough to grip my own throbbing cock.

After a few eager strokes, I tear down Isaac’s jeans before letting out a gasp at the sight of him. He’s bent over, his ass perched and ready with the glass plug wedged between his cheeks.

I press myself closer to him and we stare at each other in the mirror on the wall as I slowly ease the glass toy out of his hole. He nearly whimpers as it passes the ring of muscle.

“Please, Jensen,” he cries. “I need your cock.”

As I reach into my pocket for the lube, I kiss a line down Isaac’s spine, starting between his shoulder blades. He arches for me, letting out needy cries as I uncap the bottle and coat my fingers.

When my fingers circle his sensitive hole, he pounds his fist quietly on the counter’s surface.

“Jensen, come on,” he growls, thrusting his hips back toward me.

“My boy is so impatient,” I say, teasing him.

“Your boy is about to have a fucking fit,” he replies. “I’ve been hard for hours, babe.”

I chuckle again. I love seeing him so worked up.

“Give me hell, Isaac,” I say as I uncap the lid of the bottle again, this time slathering up my cock. “It’s going to be that much better when I shut you up.”

Isaac reaches down and strokes his own dick, and I see in the reflection how red and throbbing it is. I’m willing to bet the inside of his boxers are coated with precum, and the thought is hot as hell.

He’s groaning with impatience some more when I finally press my cock against his asshole. Instantly, he quiets.

Looking down, I savor the sight of his body taking mine, with nothing between us. As I watch my cock disappear inside him, my jaw hangs slack and my breathing seems to stop entirely.

“Mine,” I mutter possessively as I slam the rest of the way in.

Isaac grips the counter tightly as his head hangs with a mumbling sound. “Fuck, yes.”

I pull out to the tip and slam back in, and it feels incredible. The tight heat of his body swallows me up, sending warm electric shivers down my spine.

“You are all fucking mine, Isaac. Say it.”

He looks up and meets my eyes in the mirror. “I’m all yours.”

“Not the fans’. Not your family’s. Mine . Understand?”

“God, yes, Jensen,” he cries. “Don’t stop.”

“What did you call me?” I ask with strictness as I squeeze his hips tighter.

He meets my gaze in the mirror, looking surprised, maybe even hesitant.

“Try again,” I mutter as I continue to fuck him.

“Yes…Daddy,” he says before his eyes flutter closed. I’ve never been more turned on in my life. I am his daddy. I am his everything .

My hips are pistoning now. It’s been too long to take my time with him. After everything, we both need this too much.

“Who takes care of you?” I ask, holding him tightly on the hips and pounding into him. With every thrust, his cock leaks from the tip. He’s making a mess all over this greenroom, and it fills me with pride.

“You,” he says on a gasp.

“Who makes you come?”

“You,” he cries louder.

I no longer give a shit who is on the other side of that door. Let them hear Theo Virgil getting railed by the man who loves him. Let them hear how good I make this country star feel.

“Stroke yourself, baby,” I mutter as the climax creeps down my spine.

He reaches down and grips his cock as I slam against his ass. The sound of our bodies coming together fills the room.

It’s the instant reminder that when I do come, I’ll be filling him up and marking him as mine, which eventually throws me into the storm of my own release. Pleasure courses through my body. My eyes close with my head thrown back as I slam home again and again before spilling into him.

When his body has taken every drop, I look down to see Isaac still stroking his cock. Grabbing him by the throat, I pull him upright and replace his hand with mine. I’m still buried deep inside him as I lick a line up the side of his neck and jack his shaft until he starts shuddering in my arms.

“That’s it,” I mutter as he comes. “Good boy.”

The look of ecstasy on his face gives me goose bumps. He is so perfect and so mine. I don’t deserve him—I never did. But I do love him, and I always will.

When his body starts to relax in my arms, he smiles like he’s waking up from a dream.

“That was good,” he says, leaning against me.

I kiss his cheek and then his neck. “Yes, it was.”

Then he turns his head toward me and our eyes meet again. Reaching up, he strokes my hair as he softly mumbles, “I love you.”

Smiling, I kiss his lips again. “I love you, too.”

“This is crazy, right?” he asks. “We’ve only known each other a little over a month. Does it normally happen this fast?”

My arms squeeze around him affectionately. “Babe, you’re a country music star and I’m a preacher. We are anything but normal.”

He laughs. “Good point.”