by R. Cayden
“What?” Jameson asked with a rolling laugh that made his cheeks warm. “What’s that look in your eyes?”
“You’re going to think I’m greedy,” Gray answered.
Jameson pursed his lips. “Oh?”
He finally pulled Jameson’s hand up for a kiss. His lips brushed softly over the back of the fingers, and his beard scrapped along behind. “But if we’re both going to break our rules, do you want to put on a little makeup first?”
Jameson’s ears turned pink. He pressed his hand up until he was palm to palm with Gray, then laced their fingers together. The world was waiting outside, but inside, the two of them could break a couple rules. He’d trained himself like a monk for years, learning to deny it. But Gray’s lips on his hand were soft, and his beard was scratchy, and when they touched, none of the rest of it seemed to matter anymore.
“Fuck it,” Jameson whispered, then snapped his eyes up to Gray’s. “Come see my room.”
It was like in the movie theater, when Gray had just decided to run away from the crowd. Jameson figured out that if he ran forward, as fast as he could, he wouldn’t freak and change his mind. All the voices screaming stop wouldn’t be able to catch up with him.
And so he ran. He held Gray’s hand tight and led them down the hall, laughing, then up to the second floor and past the big windows, suspended over the pond.
“This place is even bigger than I thought,” Gray said, stumbling along behind Jameson. “The blueprints don’t do it justice.”
Jameson came to a stop in front of the big double doors to his room, his pulse fast and hard. “I have a feeling you’re going to like this next part,” he said, then threw open the doors and stepped forward.
Walking in, Gray turned in a slow circle. He folded his hands behind his head, whistling the whole time. “Holy shit, Jameson, you weren’t kidding. This is a work of art!”
Jameson grinned. Putting together his perfect bedroom had taken years and years, but he’d done it. He’d slowly collected brightly colored 90s furniture, some of it recovered from old beauty salons, as well as one-of-a-kind portraits of some of his inspirations, with Freddie Mercury, Blondie, and Beth Ditto all getting central billing. In the middle of all of that, though, was his favorite thing in the entire world: a gigantic, circular bed, covered in neon green velvet.
“I figured, if I have to create a sanctuary, I might as well have fun doing it,” Jameson said. He’d never really had to explain it before, considering only Dee and a couple select employees had really visited the room.
But apparently, Gray didn’t really need an explanation. “Me and my guys tried to install a hot tub in our living room one time,” he said casually, his eyes still trailing the decorations.
Jameson laughed loudly. “It didn’t work?”
Gray grinned, then flopped himself backward onto the bed. “Depends on who you ask.” He bounced himself back up, then glanced to the makeup counter. “Does this mean I get a show?”
Jameson bit down on his lip. “You really want me to?” He didn’t doubt Gray for a minute, but still, he needed to hear the words.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” Gray said. “Yeah, I want you to.”
Just like he thought, the deep rumble of Gray’s voice and the heat in his eyes did the trick. Jameson lowered himself to the makeup bench, steadied his breath, and then went to work. He moved quickly, his hands gliding as he fluffed powder, dotted his lips, and curled a wand up his lashes. The motions relaxed his body, and his gestures became even more fluid and natural. As he bounced in his seat, he pursed his lips to the mirror and arched his eyebrows, and the last lingering threads of Justin Sweet disintegrated. All the while, Gray stared on from the bed, grinning from ear to ear.
Jameson giggled, then dropped his hands to the counter. “You really do like the way I look, don’t you?”
Gray shrugged. “Fuck yeah. I’ve dated a couple femme guys before, but no one quite like you, beautiful.”
Jameson fluttered his eyelashes. It felt nice that Gray was admitting his attraction to femme guys so easily, like he wasn’t embarrassed about it at all. Jameson had been called handsome so many damn times in his life, it practically made him sick. But no one had ever complimented him like Gray did. Almost no one had even seen that part of him before, and definitely, it hadn’t made anyone grin like Gray was grinning.
Like a horny wolf.
He turned in his seat to look at Gray directly.
“You’re so sexy,” Gray said, breathing the words. “I could stare at you forever.”
Jameson glanced in the mirror. “I only have one eye done,” he laughed. “I’m lopsided.”
Gray rose to his feet, stepped forward, and took Jameson by the arm. “The hottest lopsided man in the world,” he said with a grin.
Jameson stood to meet him, their bodies nearly touching. For so many years, he had found it impossible to believe he could be beautiful. He was an action star, famous for his steely strength and determined masculinity. People talked about his jaw and his muscles, but never his eyes or the soft curves of his body that he loved.
Not until now. Jameson pressed his palm flat against Gray’s chest, and Gray sunk his fingers into Jameson’s hips. Jameson leaned up, offering himself, and their lips crashed together.
At first, all he felt was the friction of Gray’s beard, like heat raking his face. Then he found lips, soft and welcoming, and anchored himself in the taller man’s embrace. As their tongues swirled, Jameson’s body relaxed, almost like he was melting away.
“So fucking sexy,” Gray growled when he finally pulled away. He stroked the back of his fingers down Jameson’s cheek, and Jameson let out a soft purr.
“I want you,” he said softly, not wanting his voice to break the spell. He didn’t even know what he meant by that, but still, he knew it was true. “I want you, if you want me.”
Gray tightened his grip on Jameson’s hips, and when Jameson arched forward, they rubbed together, hard cock on hard cock. “I want this so bad,” he answered. “And I promise, I’ll never tell your secrets to anyone. I won’t tell my friends or my uncle or anyone. You’re safe with me, beautiful.”
Jameson’s throat tightened. Lost in Gray’s dark gaze, he knew he was hearing the truth, and he let himself believe that he had finally found something real. Something he could allow himself to feel, just like he felt the heat off Gray’s body.
Something no one would take from him.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Now kiss me, Gray.”
Gray swung Jameson to the side, and with a yelp and a laugh, they fell to the mattress. Their legs tangled as Gray tumbled Jameson onto his back, then hovered above him, placing kisses that tingled Jameson’s neck.
“Oh god,” Jameson moaned, hooking his leg behind Gray’s. He was stiff and throbbing in his jeans, and he started to writhe, desperate to feel release.
Gray kept kissing at Jameson’s neck, his hands roaming up beneath his shirt, searching. “The way you smell,” he whispered. “Like citrus and grass.”
Jameson giggled. “Is that good?”
“It’s fucking fantastic,” Gray answered, then licked his tongue up Jameson’s neck.
“Oh god,” Jameson whimpered. He kept humping himself against Gray’s hard body. All his self-control and discipline disappeared, leaving him ravenous and greedy. “I want to taste you,” he begged, grabbing Gray’s fingers and pulling at them. “In my mouth.”
A loud beep pierced through the air, and Gray shot up to attention. “Sorry, beautiful,” he whispered, trailing his hand across Jameson’s body as he turned away. Every one of Jameson’s nerves was lit, and the gesture nearly sent him tumbling over the edge, electric desire surging through his bones, then flickering out painfully at the end of Gray’s touch.
Gray grabbed his phone from the side table, then silenced the alarm. He frowned down at it for a second. “Fuck.”
“Is something wrong?” Jameson asked. His voice trembled like it might fall apart.
Jameson cast his eyes to the bedroom window, the curtains securely drawn shut. “Does that mean there’s someone on the property?”
“Maybe,” Gray answered. He adjusted the crotch of his jeans, and Jameson felt another pang of desire when he noticed the thick, hard outline of his cock. “Where’s Pickles at?”
Jameson pulled himself up on his elbows. “Probably still watching TV in the downstairs den.”
Gray paused for a second, then shot his eyes back to Jameson. “Watching TV?”
“There’s a marathon of the last Project Runway season today. She loves Project Runway.”
Gray scratched the back of his head, half his mouth pulled up in a grin. “Okay, no help from Pickles, then.” He crossed over to the window, then peeked out between the curtains. A second later, he jumped back. “Fuck!”
“What?” Jameson tensed, finally pulling himself out of his horny fog. “Is something going on?”
“In the bushes,” Gray said. “I can’t see more.” He turned to hold Jameson’s eye. “Wait here, okay? I’ll take care of it.”
Jameson nodded quickly, and Gray was out the door. He rubbed his hands over his face as he let out a long breath. Even if someone were on the property again, he knew that Gray would intercept that person before any damage was done. Jameson reminded himself that he was safe, and the thing that was happening between him and Gray was private, theirs and theirs alone, but pangs of anxiety still threatened him.
He crawled out of bed, then crossed over to the window. Slowly, he pulled the curtains open. A gray light filled the yard between his house and the guest house, and it took him a moment to adjust his eyes. Once he did, though, he spotted the person, creeping out of the bushes alongside the pond and inching toward the house.
“Damn it,” Jameson cursed, tears biting at the corners of his eyes. Of course there would be an interruption, something to burst the bubble he and Gray created together.
And then Gray came leaping down the steps from the back porch, and Jameson couldn’t help but blurt out a laugh. He was carrying a large blanket, apparently swiped from the couch, and it flapped in the air while he charged forward, taking the man by surprise.
Jameson couldn’t hear anything, but he could see the photographer’s confused, startled gesture as Gray plowed ahead, then tackled him to the ground with the blanket. The photographer struggled to get free, but Gray held his weight on top, pinning the man beneath the heavy fabric.
A giggle erupted out of Jameson as he watched Gray, yelling at the man and pointing down at him and, just a couple times, slapping him lightly across the face, too. He grabbed the bottom of the window and yanked it up just enough that he could hear outside, the cold air rushing down to his feet.
“You know, only losers work for tabloids!” Gray yelled. “All the cool photographers know that. It’s true! Everyone knows you’re rude and selfish!” The wind rushed by, garbling his words again, while Gray shoved his finger in the man’s face a few more times. When the wind passed, his voice picked back up. “And tell all your friends to stop wasting their fucking time. There’s new security here, and you’re not getting the fuck inside anymore.”
Gray jumped backward, tugging the blanket with him. As the photographer started to scramble away, he reached out and pulled something off his shoulder. “Have a good fucking night!” he yelled after the man. He lifted the object he grabbed, like he was going to throw it to the stone path, then stopped himself and slung it over his shoulder instead.
Jameson slid the window shut, then leaned backward against the wall. He felt dizzy, and a wide grin ate up his face.
What Gray did wasn’t really the smartest idea, but Jameson didn’t even care. No matter what happened between the two of them, he was always going to have that image of Gray, slapping the most annoying paparazzi photographer and telling him all the things Jameson wished he could say.
My hero, he thought to himself, his laugh bouncing up.
There was a soft knock on the door; then Gray stepped through. He held his phone up, a video feed playing. “He’s just over the fence now,” he said. “All clear. I already texted Declan to rush the order for the new fencing top, too.”
Jameson stepped forward, his heart thumping. “Thank you,” he said. “You were perfect.”
Gray pushed a hand through his hair. “A little impulsive. I guess I was worked up. I’ll make sure to wash the blanket for you.”
Jameson laughed. “That’s sweet, but don’t worry about it.” He pressed his hands back on Gray’s chest and felt his heart thump back.
Gray placed his hand on the back of Jameson’s head. “What do you think? I should probably keep an eye on the security feed tonight, in case that guy decides he wants more trouble.”
Jameson bit down on his lip. The magic was still there. It came back the moment Gray entered the room. But he couldn’t lie that there was anxiety itching at the back of his neck, like the days after the photographer had made it to his bedroom window, when he felt like he was being watched even in the shower.
Back then, he’d been so rattled, he felt like he needed a man around to keep him safe. At least now, he didn’t have to wait.
Gray smiled, warmth flooding his expression. “Just promise me I’ll get a look at that makeup later, Jameson. As long as I know I got that treat waiting for me, I’ll be fine.”
Jameson felt giddy that Gray would say something like that, and the fact that he wasn’t pressuring for more right away made everything feel suddenly easy and right. “Let’s slow down tonight,” he agreed. If he was considering going farther with Gray, he didn’t want to do it with an eye on the window anyway. “But if you want, maybe you could sleep up here, once you’re done? I think the company would feel nice.”
Gray grinned, then waggled his eyebrows. “Sounds like a dream.”
Jameson laughed. “The bed is so big, I might as well share it.”
“Works for me,” Gray answered. “I’ll head down to the guest house and complete another security check and set everything up for the evening. You’ll be okay on your own?”
Jameson nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m good. Just so long as you come back when you’re done.”
Gray chuckled. “Trust me, beautiful. I’m not going anywhere.”
Gray
Gray woke up with his arms and legs sprawled out wide. His boxers were twisted at his waist, and his eyes were blurry as he blinked himself awake.
He stretched his arms even wider with a yawn, realized how much space there was around him, and then pulled himself up on his elbows.
“Oh, right,” he mumbled under his breath. Down across the bed, several feet from Gray, Jameson was curled up with a pillow in his arms.
“Damn pillow,” Gray grumbled. “Supposed to be me.”
He flipped over and straightened his boxers and tried to push his half-hard erection to the side. For a few minutes, he just lay there, watching Jameson sleep like a damn angel. His lips were slightly parted, a soft smile pulling at their corners. He looked so gentle, Gray could hardly believe that he was the same man as Justin Sweet, the action star who would never make those whimpering noises while he slept.
Gray crawled across the bed, the velvet fabric smooth beneath him. He promised himself that he would do whatever it took, not just to keep Jameson safe, but to make sure he was happy and that he didn’t disappear from the world again.
Something within Jameson had woken up right in front of Gray. He felt like Jameson’s happiness was his responsibility now, and he was sure as hell going to take it seriously.
Jameson’s phone started beeping on the bedside table, and he slowly woke up. Gray watched as he yawned, stretching out his legs so that his feet stuck out from under one of the smaller purple blankets, pointing toward the door. A second later, his eyes snapped open, and he turned straight to Gray.
“Morning, beautiful,” Gray said. He was leaning up on one elbo
w, staring at Jameson with an indulgent grin. “Your phone keeps beeping.”
Jameson rubbed his eyes. “Morning,” he said, then waved his hand at his phone. “Too early for that.”
Gray pulled himself the rest of the way across the bed. “How’d you sleep?”
Jameson purred lightly. His voice was gentle, almost like a whisper. “Good. Really good, actually. I didn’t even have anxiety about the paparazzi.”
“I’ll take a little credit for that,” Gray said, then pushed a strand of hair out of Jameson’s eyes. Jameson looked up to him with a sleepy, dazed expression, and then the phone rang out loudly again.
“Damn it.” Jameson snatched it up and punched a few buttons. “What the hell is so important, Dee?” he mumbled.
Gray watched as Jameson thumbed through his messages, squinting with concentration. Worry and concern worked over his face, and the pinched expression pulled Gray the rest of the way from sleep. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Jameson frowned. He looked up like he was trying to figure out what to say, then handed the phone over with a frown.
Justin Sweet’s violent new security. What is the teen idol hiding from his fans?
Two attacks in two weeks! Innocent delivery person injured!
New rumors come back to life as major star draws the line: off my property… or else!
Gray felt sick to his stomach, literally nauseous. As he scrolled through the screenshots, he saw all the old hateful rumors, scrawled out in large fonts and flashing graphics. And time after time, rumors about this mysterious security guard at the mansion were at the center of it all, like Gray was some violent sociopath on a crusade.
“I didn’t even hurt the guy last night,” he said, his voice tight. “I just slapped his face a little. He was the one who broke onto your property!”
Jameson retrieved the phone, then tossed it aside. “I know,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. What’s fair doesn’t matter.” Pain ached across his eyes, and his shoulders were hunched up in a tight ball, which tore Gray open. “All they care about is getting their headlines. At least no one has a photo of you. And it sounds like the reporters you tackled are all claiming that the guy who beat them up was much bigger.”
