Veiled, page 7
I don’t see any headlights, and it’s dark as fuck, so when I get on the interstate, I’m reasonably certain no one is behind us. “Fuck, that was close.” Justin sounds tense.
I sigh, relieved that we made it out of there without anything major happening. “I think you need a month off. They’re getting wise.”
“Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t they just relax, and if I show up in their town, be happy.”
I snort at that. “Because you’re Justin St. James, and you’ve been MIA for a while. They all want to win the internet and get you on camera. You know this.”
“I hate it,” he grumbles, and I sigh again. I let him down for so long. How the hell did I not see this? He’s miserable. Not his usual high after these shows because he had to deal with people groping him on his way out.
“I’m sorry,” I say honestly. I don’t like it when he’s sad. It makes me sad too, as odd and kind of pathetic as that is.
He’s quiet on the three-hour drive to a town away from the bar he performed at tonight. I think we’re in Oklahoma. Yeah, it’s Oklahoma tonight. I go through a drive-thru on the way to the hotel, Justin having put a hat on and lowering the brim as he curls up in his seat.
No one notices. Thank fuck.
We get to the hotel, but he’s busy sulking instead of eating, and I don’t really feel like eating either.
“Tonight was still good, Justin. You still got to perform, and no one followed us.”
He just kicks his shoes off and scoots up the bed, leaning against the numerous pillows against the headboard.
I get it. I really do. But he’s also being a bit of a brat. I move to the bed, kicking off my shoes, pulling off my socks, removing my suit jacket, and then sitting down next to him. He shocks the hell out of me by laying his head on my shoulder, but I don’t say anything.
I just stroke through his hair with my fingers and try to offer him some comfort. “I know you hate when people paw at you.”
“I just want simple, you know? The bar had three times as many people in it tonight by the time I was through with my first song.”
It’s true. The speed of the internet is getting faster and faster, and anyone who was in the area was right in that bar as quickly as they could get there. “Maybe I chose too populated of an area,” I admit.
He sighs softly. “I know I’m being ridiculous. Soon, there won’t be anywhere to hide, and it makes me slightly sick.”
“You could do shows live on the internet or something. Stream from your cabin.” I stroke his hair softly.
He grumbles, and I fight the urge to laugh at his grumpy tone. “It’s not the same. I just want a small, simple atmosphere, you know? I just want it to be about the music and not the fame.”
He’s so damn different from all my other clients. There’s no denying it. My job with all of them is to keep them famous. Not keep the fame at bay. “It’s still about the music, Justin,” I assure him. “You were a sight up there tonight. Beautiful.”
He looks at me, his eyes a little glassy and tired, his tongue darting out and licking his parched lips. I try not to. I really fucking do. I know this is a terrible idea, but I can’t resist. I lean into him, capturing his lips with my own.
He doesn’t shove me away like he should. No. He kisses me back hard, his lips fierce and his tongue searching. “This is a bad idea.” I have to at least say it out loud once.
“Totally,” he says, sitting back just enough to strip his shirt off and toss it before his lips meet mine again with a hungry passion.
His fingers start on the buttons of my shirt as I kiss him, my fingers going through his hair. I can’t get enough. I know this is a horrible idea, but I just can’t stop myself. He was beautiful on that stage. His words are beautiful. The music he creates. It’s all too damn much, and I’m only human, damn it.
He gets all the buttons undone and pushes my shirt off my shoulders, his mouth going to my bare chest, leaving soft kisses. “I can’t resist you. Why the hell can’t I?” he asks almost in wonder.
He pushes me back, and I comply, falling onto the bed as he kisses down my stomach and reaches the top of my pants. He slowly undoes my belt and then my pants, prying them open but then going back to the bare skin of my abdomen. “Justin,” I plead, my aching dick still confined and needing release.
I can feel the asshole smiling against my skin, but he just uses his tongue to slide around my belly button and drag over my ribs, driving me insane. My hands are in his hair, but I don’t guide him to where I want him. He knows exactly where I want him.
He slowly works his way down, pushing my pants down but leaving my tight briefs on. I kick away the pants and moan ridiculously loud when he mouths my hard dick and balls through the briefs, the fabric soaking wet from my pre-cum and his saliva.
“Justin,” I try again, my voice hoarse.
“You smell so damn good. You smell . . .” He sounds wrecked already, and he’s still wearing his jeans. “You smell like home.”
“Fuck,” I say, my hands dragging through his hair. “Please. I’m dying here. Suck me.”
His long, graceful fingers move to the hem of my briefs, and finally, he pulls them down. My hard cock slaps against my lower stomach, and my balls scream in relief. He shimmies them down my thighs, and I kick them off before he moves back up. I part my legs, hoping he’ll give me some relief, but the bastard kisses and sucks on the inside of my thighs.
Everything before this has been hurried. Rushed. It seems he’s going to take his time with me this time, and I don’t know if that’s better or worse. I want it. There’s no denying that, but the longer he kisses my thighs, the more time he takes, fixated on my body, the more I become addicted to the feeling.
When he finally drags his parted lips along the length of my shaft, I nearly come instantly. My thighs shake with the effort to hold off. My body is screaming, and I’m a writhing, aching mess by the time his warm, wet mouth closes around my cockhead, sucking hard and dragging his tongue through my slit. “Yes,” I pant, my fingers sliding through his sweaty hair.
I’m panting, with my head tipped back as I reach for him and try not to thrust further into his mouth. I let him tease me and control every second until he finally, finally, takes me into the back of his throat, swallowing around me and making me moan.
“Yes. That. Please.” I’m a babbling mess, leaning back on my elbows so I can watch him as he sucks me off like a pro. I feel his fingers stroking over my heavy balls, teasing me and driving my body crazy. He pops off my cock long enough to make me groan in frustration and suck two fingers into his mouth. “Oh, fuck yes,” I say as I watch him, and he gives me a wicked grin before taking my cock back into his mouth.
His fingers find their way to my hole, circling and getting it wet before he slides one inside and then two. When he brushes over my prostate the second time, I can’t take it anymore. My back bows, and I unleash, coming deep into his throat. He moans and swallows around me like he was starving for it.
Holy shit, that’s hot.
I come until I almost lose my mind, my cock jerking and releasing in his mouth as he milks my prostate and sucks me dry. When I can’t take anymore, he removes his fingers, and I pull him up to me, attacking his mouth hungrily and flipping us so I’m on top of his strong body.
I can feel his cock poking against me through the denim on his jeans, and I can’t believe he didn’t seek his own release. “You must be aching right now,” I say against his pretty, full lips.
He only grins against my lips. “You have no idea. I want you so badly.”
“My mouth or my ass?” I ask devilishly, and he groans, his lips pressing hard against mine as he thrusts up, his cock dragging against me.
“Both. Anything. Everything. I just want to come. I’m dying here,” he gasps, and I smile.
“You poor thing,” I say with a wicked grin and kiss my way down his body. “I’d love to give you my ass, but I’m just not sure I can give up the chance to taste you.” I make my way down his hard chest, kissing over his tattoos and licking his muscles.
I reach the top of his jeans and unbutton them, pushing them and his boxer briefs down, not bothering with teasing him as much as he did me. His big cock jumps out, slapping against his stomach obscenely as I shimmy his jeans and underwear down and off, my eyes back on his dick.
It’s flushed red at the tip, leaking profusely, and I lick my lips. “Holy fuck, you have a beautiful dick.”
“Waylon,” he whines. “Please,” he gasps, and I smile at him, trying to decide whether I should tease him. “Waylon,” he says, clearly not amused, his voice a higher pitch than normal.
“Fine.” I lower my mouth to his cock like it’s a hardship, but I moan when I take him into my mouth, living for this moment when a burst of pre-cum hits my tastebuds. I moan again and take him to the back of my throat, thanking the stars that I don’t have a gag reflex.
I tease him for a while, but he’s keyed-up and desperate for it. I pull off his cock, and he whimpers, fucking whimpers for it. “Don’t worry,” I say, winking at him. I maneuver my body so I’m flat on my back and leaning my head over the edge before I lift it and look at him expectantly. “Just thought you might want to fuck my mouth.”
I watch gleefully as his cock jerks hard, and he scrambles off the bed to do just that. “You sure?”
I nod, lying my head back, the blood rush making the room swim a little, but it’s worth it to see how excited he looks—like he’s desperate for it. “I’m sure. I trust you.”
“Oh fuck,” he gasps quietly as he guides his cock to my mouth.
“You won’t hurt me.”
He starts slow, fucking into my mouth before he realizes I can take it and starts to thrust into the back of my throat. I open wide and take it. My cock is back to hard as I start to stroke myself in time with his thrusts.
Every time the head of his cock hits the back of my throat, he makes a strangled noise, and my stiff cock jerks in my hand, wanting more, getting off on his pleasure. It’s not long before his hot cum is spurting into the back of my mouth, and he pulls out enough to let me swallow, while I continue to stroke my own dick until he’s wrung out, his softening cock leaving my mouth, and my cum sprays from my dick.
I stroke myself through my orgasm before I climb further onto the bed and settle on my side, not worried about the mess. Justin mimics my position, lying on his side, totally naked and facing me.
“That was . . .” He sounds breathless.
I smile, knowing it was a mistake and that’s likely what he wanted to say, but it was too damn good for either of us to actually say it.
“We shouldn’t do that again.” He must land on that, and I chuckle, too fucked-out to care or be upset by it.
We shouldn’t, but I’m pretty sure we will.
Chapter Fourteen
JUSTIN
“We shouldn’t have fucked again,” I try, but it’s weak at best. It felt so fucking good, grinding my cock against him until we were both shouting into each other’s mouths. There’s cum and sweat everywhere.
We haven’t climbed out of this bed all night, but I don’t care. I can’t seem to bring myself to care. I know the lines could easily get blurred. I know I need to be strong and resist this, but it feels good.
It feels performing-on-a-stage good. And I can’t seem to deny myself this after the shitshow that was tonight.
And yeah, I know I’m being a brat about the show. It wasn’t that big of a deal that people showed up, except I can feel the scrap of freedom—the veil of privacy—slipping away slowly.
I know soon I’ll show up to a crowded bar with cameras flashing in my face. I know I’m an asshole. I know people strive to have that level of fame, and I should be grateful, but goddamn it, I’m sick of it.
Really and truly.
I just want peace and the music. It’s not too much to ask, but it seems like maybe it is. Like I’ll never have it.
“Probably not. But we did,” he says matter-of-factly, and it actually brings a smile to my face instead of annoyance.
“I know I’m an asshole,” I say grimly. I realize he doesn’t have to be here. He doesn’t have to put up with my shitty attitude. But he did seek me out. I still wonder why. The unanswered question always hangs there.
“You don’t love the fame. I thought you did, but it’s clear now,”—he chuckles—“very clear that you hated it. You’re not an asshole. You just aren’t typical.”
“And that’s what makes me an asshole,” I say, rolling to my side. “It’s not just wanting to be different though. I just am.”
He rolls to his side, still blissfully naked and tucking his hands under the side of his head. “I know. And yeah, you’re going to have people calling you a spoiled brat and speculating that you just want attention or to be different. But I know.” His eyes bore into mine so hard I swear he’s looking right into me.
“The money is nice. I’m not . . .” I huff. “I’m not ungrateful, but . . .”
“It came at too high of a price,” he finishes for me, and I flush but then nod. “No matter what, there will be some people who think you owe them. You don’t.”
I want to believe him. But I think I might always feel that guilt gnawing away at me because I’ll never have to worry about money again. Even if I never sell another album or tickets to a show.
I’ll be fine financially.
“And what about this?” I ask, motioning between our bodies.
He grins at me, his hair adorably rumpled. “Well, this was weeks of stress and not getting laid.” I smile, not disagreeing. “And relieving some tension. A lot of pent-up tension, actually.”
I nod, not unhappy that he didn’t call it a mistake. Not unhappy at all. “And next time we get . . .”—I grin wryly—“tense . . .” I leave the question there for him to answer.
My heart is thumping hard in my chest, though, with anticipation because I want him to say this is okay. I want him to want to continue this. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s unprofessional as hell.
I just want this.
“Well, I suppose it would be okay.” He looks curiously at me, watching my reaction. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults getting off together when needed.”
“Sexy,” I say dryly, and he laughs at that, pushing his hand against my bare chest and shoving me.
“Well, what do you think?”
I lick my dry lips, trying to think about the question and not about how the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen is lying next to me, naked, and his lips aren’t on mine. How badly I want to remedy that.
“I think we’re adults, and we know what this is,” I say trying to sound convincing. “I say it’s super professional, if you ask me.”
He cackles at that, tossing his head back and exposing his elegant throat to me, looking so damn gorgeous that way. His eyes meet mine, full of mirth. “And how is that? I have to know.”
I shrug, blushing slightly. “Well, it helps us work. Clears our minds. Keeps us from wanting to kill each other. I think that’s very professional.”
He grins and then wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me into him as he kisses my lips. “I don’t even care that it’s total bullshit. I’m gonna go with it anyway.”
I grin and kiss him hard. “Good.”
“Please tell me you’ve lined up a gig,” I say, kneeling at Waylon’s feet in the tiny-as-fuck shower in my cabin. The sex is good, but the space is not. I nuzzle his hard cock as his fingers slide through my wet hair.
“That’s what you want to talk about now?” he asks breathlessly, gazing down at me.
I lick and tease his hard shaft, stroking it with my hand at the same time. “I’m going crazy.”
“Jeez, way to make a guy feel special,” he deadpans, but it’s said jokingly. It’s been surprisingly easy and simple these past two weeks. We hook up, we hang out, then we go back to our separate cabins.
But I’m still losing my mind. “Don’t be like that.” I lick the head of his cock and stroke it in my hand, my other hand holding myself up by grasping his hip hard. It’s too small of a space, and I’m starting to cramp up, but still, no regrets. “You know, I can’t seem to get enough of this cock.” I lick the tip again for emphasis and then suck the head into my mouth, making him groan.
“Come here.” I do what he says because yeah, it’s cramped. When I stand up, we barely fit, but I don’t mind being this close to him, chest to chest. Cock against cock.
“Hi,” I say as he wraps his arms around my neck and pulls me into a kiss.
He reaches between us, grasping both of our dicks together and stroking, moving his hips in perfect rhythm. “Hi.” He kisses me softly, panting lightly against my lips as he brings us both intense pleasure. “It’s only been two weeks.”
“I need a gig,” I say desperately. I do. I wrote a new song, but it’s not quite right. I need to play it in front of a live audience. Test it out.
“I know.” The silky flesh of his cock slides against mine, and it feels so damn good, I tilt my head back, breathing heavily. He licks my throat and makes me groan. “I’ll book one for next week. We just need to be careful.”
I nod my head, happy he’s on board but protecting me. I’ve always felt safe with Waylon. Truth be told, leaving him behind was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I thought—I wanted to believe—I could do it on my own. That I didn’t need him or anyone.
Clearly, I was wrong. And there’s a part of me that really does like being taken care of. I come on a gasp, my cum making a mess between us. He uses it to slick up his own cock, stroking until his orgasm hits him, and then he presses his lips against mine.
I kiss him through it as he strokes and milks every bit of pleasure from us both. We dry off and then get dressed before going into the living room, sitting on the comfy couch. Waylon grabs his phone. I can only assume he’s working because Waylon always works.
