Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Was this on our minds the whole tour? Nice picture this, nice guestroom that, when are we gonna smash our mouths together? I have no idea what’s in his head other than the noise of us kissing, but he’s all out of words and full to the top with appetite.
His head’s tucked under my shirt now with his lips all over my chest. With him pressing me to this cushy dream of an armchair, I have no hope or desire of stopping him.
I feel his fingers at my crotch.
My jeans are opened in seconds, then slid down with ease.
For half a heartbeat, I part my lips to tell him to stop, that he doesn’t have to go all in, that I’m not just here for—But all of that instinct is gone the second his fingers wrap around my cock and his firm, wet lips close over its head.
Oh, shit.
Then he goes down on it, all the way, every inch.
Oh, holy fuckin’ shit.
I don’t remember putting my hands on his head, but there they are, gripping his hair like I’m on a ride, a rollercoaster of us, click-clacking its way to the top of the hill, now stopped, dipped downward, anticipating the exhilarating first drop.
That’s what this is, isn’t it? Our exhilarating first drop?
I don’t know what it is about musicians on the road that leads everyone to assume we’re sexing it up ten times a night, but I can attest from my own personal experience that it ain’t true for all of us. I’m isolated as hell. Untouched. Longing for affection. Bleeding it out of every song I pour onto that stage, feeling like the world is so fucking far away, I can’t even see it most nights.
And it’s one thing just to be touched. But by someone you care about? Someone you can’t get out of your mind? Who means more to you than cheap overnight meet-and-greets in a hotel?
The second he comes up, eyes finding mine, lips wet from his efforts, I cling to his face and drag him back up to mine for a kiss. I taste myself on his tongue. “What’s gotten into you?” I whisper on his lips. He coyly answers, “You.” Then I take hold of him fully, lift him straight off of me, and transfer him to the couch right next to us, laying him down and crawling over him, fingers woven right back into his sexy, messy hair.
It’s downright animal, the passion unleashed between us.
Guess it’s an appropriate consequence, for holding out so long on each other, leaving this desire building up to dangerous levels.
I lift my mouth from his for just a second to get a look at his face. He opens his eyes slowly, as if coming up for air from a deep pool. When he smiles, I smile right back. “That song I wrote,” I tell him, “it’s called ‘In Your Ocean’, and I think you’re inspirin’ a few more called ‘In Your House’ … then ‘In Your Arms’ …”
“‘In Your Bed’,” he suggests, then tilts his head. “I sure hope you plan on singing all these songs to me. But, like, artfully naked. Only your guitar covering you up.”
I peel off my shirt and pitch it across the room. “That so?”
TJ peels off his from underneath me, sits up for half a second to join his shirt with my own, then says, “Yeah. All of them.”
“Keep on inspirin’ me, then.” I return my lips to his neck. He leans back against the couch, breathing heavily under each touch of my mouth on his exposed skin as I explore his body. He smells so good. Tastes even better. The second I’m on him, I can’t get enough, no matter how much I get.
I bury my face in his crotch. His hands find my hair, clinging to it. My fingers curl greedily into the waistband of his shorts and underwear both, working them down with slow, deliberate intent. His deep breaths come quicker as I free his cock, letting it press to my cheek, as warm as the sun, fully erect. I turn my head and open my lips onto its pliable length. My mouth enjoys the veiny texture, then my tongue as I let it out to drag over its firm surface, all the way up to his swollen head. I catch him watching me from the top of the mountain of him. I smirk, part my lips, and let him inside.
His face scrunches up and his cute lips round into an “O” of delirium, like he never dreamed this could happen to him.
With my own cock still out, I start stroking with my free hand as I go up and down on his with my mouth, working him right up to the edge with ease. I feel his legs squirming underneath me like he’s trying to fight it off, hold it in as long as he can, despite the build-up in both of us desperately ready to break free. We let our appetites go too long ignored. We can’t focus on a single thing in our lives without a taste we both feel we’ve earned. Don’t we deserve to feel good?