You’re not what I expected.
“What did you expect?” I ask before taking his hand and walking to the car while he types out an answer with one hand, those Millennial skills come in handy once in a while.
I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d be more of a typical rock star? You’re so…sweet.
I bark out a laugh and notice a sad flicker pass through Dawson’s eyes.
“Jude’s more the typical rock star type. The rest of us are just…who we’ve always been, only we have a lot more money and stress,” I explain. “I have to know, is sweet a good thing or are you wishing you’d bumped into Jude instead?”
Rather than writing an answer, Dawson steps closer, backing me against the car and kissing me hard. This kiss is rough as he fists my hair and presses his erection against mine through our jeans. I give as good as I get, fucking my tongue into his mouth and shoving my hands down the back of his pants to grab the firm globes of his ass. My thumbs find another set of sexy as fuck dimples just above his ass, and I smile against his lips.
I’m leaking pre-cum in my underwear as he grinds against me, making my cock throb and my balls ache for release.
“Can we please go home?” I beg against his mouth. There’s no way he can tell what I said, but he seems to have a pretty good guess as he lets me go and smacks my ass to hurry me around to the driver’s side of the car.
When we get inside the beach house about ten minutes later, Dawson wastes no time tearing my shirt over my head and licking a path from the pulse in my throat down to my peaked nipple. His teeth graze my sensitive flesh, and I shiver and moan. He fumbles with my jeans, shoving them down as soon as he gets the zipper undone. I kick out of my pants, and Dawson’s eyes roam over my nearly naked body. He licks his lips, and I look down to see an obvious wet spot darkening my red briefs, and a clear outline of my cockhead. He whimpers quietly and falls to his knees with a thud. I wince at how that must’ve felt, but it doesn’t seem to bother Dawson as he nuzzles against the bulge in my underwear, breathing deeply like he’s trying to memorize my scent.
I gently tug my fingers through his hair, not trying to rush him, just to appreciate any point of contact I can have with him. He looks up at me through his dark eyelashes, and the wicked little grin on his lips makes me impossibly harder for him. It’s all I can do not to shove my underwear down and force my cock between his luscious lips.
He places filthy, open mouth kisses all along my shaft through the damnable fabric and when he reaches the sticky, wet spot, he licks it in full, greedy strokes until I’m a trembling, begging mess.
“Please, please, please,” I babble, tugging at his hair now and hoping like hell he’ll take pity on me and fuck me soon.
When his fingers snag in the waist of my underwear, I nearly sob with relief. I don’t care if he fucks me or sucks me off, I just want him to make me come. But instead of putting me out of my misery, he stands up just as he tugs my underwear down.
Dawson grabs my hand and leads me stumbling naked to the bedroom, all my clothes left in a pile in the living room. He points at the bed, and I crawl on and lay on my back.
“Take your clothes off.”
He shakes his head, and I grumble impatiently even though I know he can’t hear me. He chuckles at my disgruntled expression and then climbs onto the bed, spreading my legs apart so he can settle between them. His eyes roam hungrily over my body and then pause on my erection standing proudly and dripping pre-cum onto my stomach.
He nudges my legs farther apart and then pushes my thighs up, clearly intent on getting at my ass. Happy to assist with that goal in any way possible, I pull my knees up to my chest.
Dawson makes a rumbling noise of approval as his gaze lands on my hole. He gently trails a dry finger over my rim, and I’m ashamed to say I whine with impatience.
His tongue joins the finger, and I buck up off the bed at the delicious sensation of his hot, wet tongue teasing me. He licks in long, slow strokes until there’s saliva trickling down my crack. Then, he pushes his finger inside, and I let out a strangled cry.
Since he won’t hear my pleas, I tug hard on his hair, urging him to hurry up and fuck me. My cock flexes and drips, and my balls feel heavy and sore. Heat is spreading from the pit of my stomach outward. If he doesn’t get inside me, I’m going to come on his finger instead of his dick, and that would be an outright tragedy.
He adds a second finger, and I squirm against him, shamelessly fucking myself on his fingers and praying like hell for more.
When he pulls them out, I nearly sob at the loss. I reach for him, my fingers clutching at his arms as I try to tug him closer, desperate for more contact, more of everything.
I don’t realize my eyes are closed until he taps my arm. I open them and stare at Dawson in awe, bathed in moonlight and more gorgeous than ever. His lips are puffy and wet, his chest heaving. At some point, he took off his shirt; how did I miss that? He has more ink that was hidden under his clothes. I’m in no state to read the scrawled script across his chest, but I make a mental note to get a closer look later.
I realize he’s waiting for something as I take in his raised eyebrows and amused smile.
“Oh, condoms and shit, duh,” I mutter, forcing myself up. I scramble off the bed and dig through my bag until my fingers land on the box of condoms and the tube of lube I shoved in there when I was packing, the hope lingering in the back of my mind that somehow, I’d find Dawson again.
When I turn back around, he’s naked and sprawled out on the bed, slowly stroking himself. I stride over and climb onto the bed, smacking his hand away and replacing it with my own. His head falls back against the pillow, and his eyes drift close as I drag desperate, rough sounds from him with my hand.
I use my teeth to uncap the lube and then realize I won’t be able to squirt it out without an extra hand. Reluctantly, I take my hand off Dawson’s cock and squirt some lube onto my fingers, then toss the tube aside and return to jerking him off. I slather the lube around my hole, still damp from Dawson’s mouth but not nearly wet enough to take his cock. I use two fingers to get the lube deep inside, and then I tear open the condom and roll it down Dawson’s erection.
He fists the bedsheets and watches me with ravenous eyes as I straddle his hips and position his cock at my slicked entrance.
It’s been ages since I’ve been fucked, but there’s no way I’m taking this slow. The sharp sting of his thick head breaching me makes me gasp and grounds me in the moment. I want the little lick of pain to remind me this is real. This isn’t a dream or a fantasy, this is Dawson inside me again.
His hands grip my hips as I take him all in one fast motion. I moan at the glorious stretch and fullness. I rotate my hips, luxuriating in the feeling of Dawson’s cock reaching deep inside me. My head falls back, and a moan tumbles from my lips. I rise up and slam myself back down, making Dawson whimper. A sad pang hits my chest as I imagine how sad I would be if I couldn’t hear his sounds of pleasure.
I take Dawson’s hand and place it on my throat before rising and easing back down slowly enough to drive us both crazy. My throat vibrates against his palm as I moan deeply, and Dawson convulses with pleasure beneath me.
He bends his knees and bucks his hips, driving himself deeper. His shaft drags long my prostate, forcing pre-cum to dribble from my tip.
Dawson’s fist tightens just slightly around my throat as I ride him wildly and babble incoherently.
The heat rises inside me again, making beads of sweat form on my forehead. His hand gets tighter, not close to cutting off my air but possibly leaving bruises. God, I want his bruises on my throat, on my hips, on my ass. I lay my hand over his, and I cry out with the intensity of the orgasm that finally rips through me. My muscles tense, and the painful anticipation finally crests as my channel clamps hard around Dawson’s cock, buried so deep. He moans right along with me as my cum splatters his chest.
I collapse against his chest when the last wave of aftershocks dissi
pate, and I whimper when his softening cock slips out of me.
Dawson
My limbs are heavy, and sweat is clinging to my skin as we lay tangled in the sheets, the smell of sex hanging heavy in the air. My cheek rests on Lando’s chest, the gentle rise and fall lulling me toward sleep.
I blink my heavy eyelids and drag my fingers through the dusting of hair on Lando’s chest. When a rumble starts against my cheek, I wonder for a second if Lando is purring. But when I look up at his face, I can see his lips moving. It’s too dark to read what he’s saying, so I roll over and grab my phone off the nightstand and hold it up to him, to let him know to grab his.
What are you saying? I ask.
I was singing. Sorry, I didn’t realize I was doing it.
The same ache of longing settles in my chest, making me infinitely jealous of anyone who gets to know what Lando sounds like. I know he’s not the lead singer of Downward Spiral—is that because he’s not a good singer, or did he simply not want the spotlight? Is his voice rough and untrained? Or is it the kind of voice that can make a person fall instantly in love with him when he sings?
What were you singing? I ask after my long pause of self-pity.
I was singing “Sweat Like Candy”
I shiver when I read his message. That’s one of my favorite DS songs. It’s sexy as hell, full of raw lust and desperate longing. Knowing how passionate Lando is in bed, the song makes sense. But then a crazy thought occurs to me. Maybe it’s too out there to even entertain, but once it burrows into my brain, I have to ask.
Is that song about me?
Lando stares at my message for a long time, chewing his bottom lip and driving me insane wondering what his answer will be. I have to be wrong. So what if he says we spent an amazing weekend together all those years ago? I’m sure he’s been with a million perfect men, and likely written songs about all of them.
My heart jolts as he types out a message. My phone vibrates in my hand when it’s received, and I’m almost afraid to look. I’m not sure I can handle the answer to this question.
My finger is trembling as I hit the message icon and bring the text up.
Yes.
My chest heaves. I’m not even sure if this is the answer I wanted. It’s too much and so fucking unfair that I can’t remember the weekend that inspired the song.
Are any others about me?
Yes.
My head spins and my heart pounds.
Which ones?
All of them.
I can feel a gasp as it’s sucked into my throat. My mind is a confused fog, and my body takes over. Without thought, I scramble out of bed and pull on my clothes. I can feel Lando’s gaze on my back the entire time, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.
Once I’m dressed I turn around and brush a kiss to Lando’s cheek.
“I should get home. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
Track 16: Side B
Can’t Look Back
Lando
There was an appropriate gray cloud cover blocking the sun on Monday morning when I woke up. Something was tickling my back, and when I rolled over, I saw Dawson was awake, brushing his fingers gently over my skin.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No,” I said, rolling toward him and pulling him into my arms. My heart ached at the thought of walking away from him now. Two days and he already owned every part of me.
“Let’s not be sad this morning. Tell me something fun we’ll do together next time we see each other,” Dawson prompted, nuzzling against my chest.
“What do you want to do?”
“Something crazy,” he said decisively. “Maybe ziplining? Or bungee jumping?”
“That sounds terrifying,” I laughed.
“Why?”
“Because I’m afraid of heights like any reasonable person.”
Dawson chuckled and burrowed closer to me. “I’m not,” he informed me needlessly.
“What are you afraid of then?”
“Getting to the end of my life and feeling like I didn’t enjoy enough, live enough. I want to live a life that makes me so happy it overflows from me. I want to have adventures and write about them. I want to fall in love so deeply it scares me. I want to live so hard other people are jealous when they look at my life.”
“Not too much to ask then,” I teased even though my heart was full to bursting at his words. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if he’d want to come on tour with the band, see some new places, have new experiences…but something stopped me.
“Will you take me bungee jumping next time we see each other?”
“Absolutely, dimples.” I pulled him close and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips.
We spent the morning in bed, desperately trying to pretend I wouldn’t be getting on a plane in the afternoon without knowing when we’d see each other again.
When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I got dressed and haphazardly stuffed my clothes and things into my suitcase.
“How are you getting to your sister’s house?” I asked as it occurred to me we hadn’t talked about that. We’d been too busy pretending nothing would exist after this weekend.
“Parker dropped my car off in the long-term parking lot at the airport last week when she knew I was coming home.”
“Oh, cool,” I nodded, the cold reality of the weekend ending creeping in. “So…I guess we’d better go?”
“Yeah,” Dawson sighed. “This isn’t the end, right?”
“No way, dimples.” I bumped my nose against his and then brushed a kiss to his lips. “This is just the beginning.”
Track 17: Side A
Wish It Was You
Lando
“Fuck,” I shout at myself as the front door slams behind Dawson. I shouldn’t have laid everything out like that. It was too fast. He can’t even remember me, and here I am, basically confessing an obsession with him.
I roll over and bury my face in the pillow that smells like sweat and Dawson. Half an hour ago we were in heaven, and now he’s gone…again.
I grab the pillow in my fist and fling it against the nearest wall. It’s easier to punish the pillow for smelling so perfect than to punish myself for being a fucking idiot. When throwing the first pillow doesn’t calm the rage in my chest, I grab a second one and chuck it even harder against the wall. It helps a little, but not enough.
I scramble out of bed and open the window. A chilly breeze nips at my naked skin, cooling the droplets of sweat. The white noise sound of the ocean filters through my angry haze and soothes me a little. I drag the salty air into my lungs and hold it there for several seconds before releasing it. My eyelids fall closed and images dance behind my lids. Images of Dawson and I tangled together, kissing, touching, making each other come.
A familiar buzzing tingle starts in the back of my mind. I know that feeling, but I’m afraid to hope. I take a few more deep breaths, focusing on the tactile memories of Dawson in my bed. Words flit through my mind. Words like hungry flesh and longing. Words trying desperately to capture the feelings swirling through me. I want to grab a piece of paper and write them down, but I’m almost afraid to scare them away.
My phone vibrates on the bed where I left it, and I jump to grab it, hoping it’s Dawson until I realize it’s a call not a text.
It’s Benji calling so I swipe to answer. “Hey,” I answer.
“Uh…hey,” Benji says. “Are you okay?”
“Fucking peachy, what’s up?”
“I just got a weird call from Lincoln.”
“Is he okay?”
“I’m not sure, honestly. He called me Benny, and he was talking about a mile a minute. I think he’s having one of his episodes where he doesn’t sleep.”
“Fucking hell,” I let out a long sigh and flop down on the bed with my phone still pressed to my ear.
“I’m really worried about him. He said Jace is there.”
“Jace?” I repeat in horror. Lincoln isn’t emotionally str
ong enough to deal with the day to day, let alone handle getting his heart broken a second time by the man he never stopped loving.
“Yeah, I can’t decide if this is good news or not. If they work things out, maybe Lincoln will finally get help. But if things go south…I don’t think he’ll survive it.”
“Agreed.”
“Maybe I should call Archer? I hate to bother him when he deserves a vacation so much too.”
“Why don’t we give Lincoln a few days, and then I’ll call him to check in?”
“Okay, yeah,” Benji agrees. “How’s your vacation going?”
I make a non-committal sound in the back of my throat. I don’t have the energy or the words to talk about what’s going on with Dawson.
“You?” I ask to shift the focus.
“It’s interesting.” Benji sounds happy, and my heart lifts a little.
“Oh yeah? You and London rekindling the old flame?” I guess.
Benji makes an irritated sound on the other end of the phone. “How many times do I have to tell you guys that London and I weren’t together? I feel like I should take out a billboard or something. And, no, we’re not casually fooling around again or anything else.”
“Oh? Who’s keeping you so interested?” I tease.
“No one yet, but we’ll see how things go.”
“You have your eye on someone in particular?”
“I do. Not sure if I’m going to be able to pull it off. We’ll see,” he explains.
“If you’re gunning for the guy, he doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Aw, thanks, boo.”
“Any time, sugar plum,” I joke.
We chat for a few more minutes before hanging up. I set my phone on the nightstand and then get up to close the window. My heart sinks when I realize the open window aired out the scent of sex that had been hanging in the air. I want to give him space rather than push too hard. But his vacation ends in a few days, and I’m afraid I won’t get a third chance with him if I let him get away again.
Play it by Ear (Replay Book 2) Page 8
