“Give?” Jeremy asked, tugging upward on his arm.
Kit gritted his teeth. With a war cry, he bucked backward, sending Jeremy sailing into the opposite side of the entry. Jeremy hit hard, and his legs buckled a little. Kit backed across the room. Placing the couch between them, he stood with his back to the wall and waited. Vaguely, he heard the sound of rain pelting the windowpanes as the skies opened up outside.
“Strip,” Jeremy said, pausing to shed his shoes and socks.
A corner of Kit’s mouth kicked upward. “No.”
Hand stilling on his top button, Jeremy narrowed his eyes. Not bothering to go around the couch, he walked up the seat cushions, over the top, and hurtled himself downward. Heedless of injury, he used gravity and momentum to his advantage. Kit’s plan hadn’t taken such deviousness into account, and they both crashed to the ground. Not pausing to take in the injury to his hipbone and elbow as he landed, Kit caught hold of Jeremy’s shirt from the collar at the back and pulled. Buttons popped, and the shirt tore down his back with a satisfying schripp.
“Fuck!” Jeremy’s head shot up, and he glared at Kit.
“What? You got that rag at the secondhand store,” Kit said, knowing the label he’d felt under his hand cost about two hundred dollars without the hand tailoring he’d invested.
“Prick.” Jeremy growled the insult.
Then they were at it again in earnest. Hands tearing at one another’s clothes, they crashed their mouths together in bruising kisses. Teeth clacked, noses mashed, and tongues were nicked when they managed to invade past a sharp canine. Grunts and thuds, harsh breathing, and the sweet scent of sweat invaded the air. Palming the back of Jeremy’s head for leverage, Kit felt the damp tendrils of his hair curling under his fingers. His grip slipped, and he accidentally tugged Jeremy’s head forward so their foreheads crashed together. Still seeing stars, he blindly rolled Jeremy into a table. A vase teetered and crashed, shattering on the opposite side.
“Careful,” Kit gasped, lifting his head to assess where the danger lay.
Jeremy, again, used his distraction against him. Shoving Kit’s shirt half off his shoulders, Jeremy trapped Kit’s arms by his sides. Jerking his arms free cost him. Jeremy got hold of Kit’s jeans and tore at the button and zipper before he freed himself from the makeshift bondage of his shirt. Cool air hit Kit’s cock, and he grunted when Jeremy rolled him face-first into the floor.
“Bad day to go commando,” Jeremy said.
Kit froze until the sound of a zipper goaded him into action. Shoving his hips upward, he rolled. Jeremy flailed to the side, then stood. Kit scrambled to his feet and rushed in, head low. Grabbing him around the middle, he threw Jeremy over the back of the couch.
Forced to use all of his weight to pin a struggling Jeremy, Kit mentally grasped for options. Then he spotted a blue bottle on the side table out of the corner of his eye. Desperate, he grunted more than said, “Give and I’ll use the massage oil. Keep it up, I’ll go at you dry.”
Jeremy stilled beneath him. Seconds ticked by as Kit almost heard him weighing his decision. The pain would be too much for him to bear, and Kit would never do it, but it didn’t mean Jeremy had to know.
“Give.” Jeremy gritted the word after an unsuccessful attempt to thrust Kit off him.
Grinning, Kit bunched Jeremy’s underwear and trousers around his knees, hobbling him. He grabbed the blue bottle on the end table and popped open the cap. Slick, squelching sounds and the scent of almonds filled the air. Jeremy’s breath hitched audibly, and Kit’s smile stretched broader. He liked winning, and he hadn’t won much at anything of late.
“Ready to scream?” he asked, leaning into Jeremy’s ear.
The sound of his fists reflexively grasping leather his only answer, Jeremy remained mute. Head bowed. Kit fisted his own cock and entered him hard. The couch groaned across the floor, and Jeremy jerked his head upward. Heated flesh surrounded Kit. The pull of Jeremy’s muscle milked his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut. Willed his orgasm away. This had to last. It couldn’t end. Ever. With each push and withdrawal, Jeremy gasped beneath him. His teeth squeaked audibly, and Kit paused midstroke. He wasn’t enjoying this…?
“What’s wrong?”
Jeremy shook his head. “Don’t stop.”
“No, dude. I’m really hurting you. What is it?” Fuck his pain fetish. Kit got off on knowing he enjoyed it. Otherwise, what was the point?
“My cock is trapped between my pelvis and the couch frame.”
Kit paled at the thought and moved back a little. Jeremy adjusted his hips and sighed, his relief apparent.
“We need some kind of signal.” Kit shook his head, his cock flagging. “You have to tell me if something like that happens again.”
“Shut up and fuck me, Kit, or I’ll show you what an ass pounding really feels like.”
The dark dominance curling through Jeremy’s smooth, steady voice hurtled blood back to Kit’s cock. Vision hazy, he breathed deep through his nostrils and pushed forward. Slowly. Savored every inch of the stroke. In the back of his mind, he realized Jeremy really had control here. Directed the fucking when he jutted his hips, demanding harder. Faster.
Gripping lean hips, Kit complied and thrust balls-deep for a cushioned landing against Jeremy’s ass. The slap-slap of flesh and glistening drip of sweat down Jeremy’s spine painted a three-dimensional picture of his peaking lust. Layers of sensation built in Kit’s abdomen, each one thicker than the last. He slid one hand beneath Jeremy, found his cock and squeezed hard.
Jeremy jerked, then thrust forward, insistent. Kit felt their orgasms building. Together. He bit his lip and made a decision. Two sharp jerks of his hips bumped the head of his cock against Jeremy’s prostate. Jeremy moaned. Then gasped. Tightened already snug muscles. As his own orgasm spiked through him, Kit tightened the circle of his fingers around the base of Jeremy’s balls, cutting off his orgasm.
Sharp, guttural sounds of shock and pleasure-wrapped pain tore from Jeremy’s throat. Kit threw his head back and let the last waves of sensation pulse through him. He’d never known anything like this in someone else’s body—in someone else’s arms. Falling forward, he loosened his grip on Jeremy and slid against sweat-soaked skin. Harsh gasps tore from Jeremy’s chest as little shudders ran along his spine. Kit smiled, knowing he’d just given his lover the best mind fuck ever.
His lover.
“I need some water,” Jeremy said after a long while.
Kit pushed up, stiff muscles protesting, and Jeremy peeled himself from the couch. Sweat glistened on the leather, outlining the shape of Jeremy’s body—his broad chest and tapered waist.
“I’ll get it.” Kit smoothed Jeremy’s hair back and brushed a kiss against his forehead. “You sit.”
Returning, he pressed the cold glass into Jeremy’s hand and flicked a glance at his still-hard cock. A light purple with an underlay of angry red, it bobbed as Jeremy breathed into the glass with greedy gulps. Ice clinked when Jeremy set the glass down on the coffee table. He sat back and rested his head on the couch. Eyes closed—little lines marring their corners—his fists clenched at his sides, he in no way presented a picture of repose.
“What am I going to do with you?” Kit whispered.
Dark eyes flew open, and Jeremy’s breaths deepened as he caught Kit’s considering stare. So much fun to play with… Kit sat, one knee bent along the couch as he faced Jeremy, and placed a hand on his thigh. Cocking his head to one side, he smirked and felt deliciously evil as he said, “I could just leave you like this. Make you suffer.”
Arousal drugging his gaze, nostrils flaring on his inhale, Jeremy kept mute and searched Kit’s face. Kit dipped his eyes to Jeremy’s cock and tsk-tsked as a steady stream leaked from the tip. With one finger, he traced the fluid, pulling it from tip to base. Jeremy hissed air through his teeth, and Kit grinned.
“Do you like it?” he asked, swooping in to place a suckling kiss on parted, wine-red lips. “Do you like being deni
ed?”
So much about Jeremy’s body fascinated him. They were so alike yet so different. From the shape of their cocks—Jeremy’s wavered ponderously, while Kit’s strutted and bobbed—to which sensations and nerve endings, kinks and pressures, got them off. He enjoyed learning these nuances and playing with them—using his mind as well as his body to increase their mutual pleasure.
“It burned.” Jeremy closed his eyes as a blush painted the ridges of his cheekbones. “It hurt like hell.”
Kit frowned until Jeremy licked his lips and rasped, “So good.”
“C’mere.” Kit stood and tugged Jeremy from the couch. “Watch the glass on the floor.”
Grasping Jeremy around the waist, Kit led him to the bedroom and pressed him on the bed. His lover lay back against the bronze silk—a long-limbed, muscled picture of pale-skinned perfection. Wanting to give him release but knowing Jeremy’d rather have the chemical high of being denied, Kit hovered in indecision. Just because he’d want the orgasm didn’t mean Jeremy did. Lying down, he pulled Jeremy to him and kissed the top of his head with a sigh.
“Sleep,” he said. And they did.
Chapter Twenty
A rustling sound, a zipper being closed, the clatter of something plastic falling to the floor. Dread pulled at Kit’s stomach even before he fully surfaced from his dreams. He opened his eyes to see Jeremy lifting his toothbrush from the floor and placing it into the toiletry bag he’d kept at the condo for several months.
“I had to borrow a shirt,” Jeremy said, not meeting Kit’s eyes.
Kit rolled his head to glance at the clock. Six thirty. He looked back to Jeremy, who stood next to the bed, arms hanging, head turned away.
“You’re leaving.”
Jeremy nodded.
Kit pushed to a sitting position and ran a hand down his face, letting it rasp against his stubble. Had he fucked up last night when he’d let Jeremy go to sleep without getting off?
“Why?” he finally asked, not able to articulate his suspicions.
Turning his attention to the bag at the foot of the bed, Jeremy zipped it closed.
“I think we both know…” He cleared his throat. “I think… We need some time. You need some time.”
Fuck. This was about Amber. About Kit coming out. If they hadn’t gotten distracted last night, he would’ve said something before now—had planned on it. Right now, the last several weeks struck him as a dark comedy of missed opportunities and stupid mistakes.
“Sit,” Kit said, uncertainty in his tone. Not knowing exactly how to approach such a difficult topic but knowing he had to try—for once wanting to try. “We need to talk. Don’t just go. Not like this.”
Lowering himself hesitantly to the end of the bed, Jeremy still refused to look at him. Kit recognized that expression on his face—one that said he barely held himself together and would probably lose it the second he walked out the door. Kit swallowed down a lump as an invisible thread connecting his chest to Jeremy’s vibrated in sympathy.
“I talked to my PR people last week.”
Jeremy’s head snapped around. “About?”
“Us.” One word—so simple—ignited hope in Jeremy’s eyes. The emotion burned so bright, bathing his skin in a pink glow, Kit couldn’t believe he had to extinguish it. He looked away and continued. “They asked me to wait.”
“Oh.” Jeremy stood.
Kit grasped his wrist. “Sit. Please.”
Darting a glance at the door, Jeremy licked his lips. “I have to go. I have to sign some contracts.”
Warm skin—fresh with the scent of spicy soap, steady pulse thrumming beneath—anchored Kit’s world. Let go and he’d lose what really mattered. Hold on and the relationship would eventually pull him under and drown them both. He let go.
He swung his legs over the bed, not bothering to hide his nakedness or his morning erection. With a girl, he’d have hidden. With Jeremy, he didn’t have to pretend—about anything. Gripping the edge of the bed, he looked up and let his eyes plead for him.
“They said I’m up for some major awards if No Apologies releases as strongly as everyone’s predicting,” Kit explained.
Jeremy blinked, clearly shocked, but masked the expression quickly. “Congratulations.”
“I know you’re the one who deserves it, but…” Kit needed it. “I had top billing, and my PR people think they’re loving the comeback angle.”
“That’s cool. It’s good.” Shouldering his bag, grasping his toiletry kit, Jeremy walked to the bedroom door.
“That’s it?” Kit stood.
Time suspended. Jeremy turned in slow motion and choked out the words, “Only if you want it to be.”
The elevator mimicked the plummeting feeling in his middle as Jeremy descended to the lobby. He looked neither left nor right as he strode to the parking garage…and stopped short. Kit leaned casually against Jeremy’s car, arms over his torso. He must’ve taken the stairs.
“You didn’t—” Kit dropped his arms to his sides.
Jeremy let go of his bag and let Kit pull him into his embrace. Warm lips, sweet and dry, nuzzled along the seam of his mouth. Tentative. Pressure increased until they both opened. Kit’s tongue swept inside, tasting him. Jeremy tangled his own tongue along moist heat tinged with the strong taste of cinnamon. Without time to brush his teeth, Kit must’ve dipped his finger in the toothpaste and suckled it onto his tongue. The thoughtfulness of the gesture gave a kick to Jeremy’s abdomen, and he pulled away.
Kit leaned backward, pulling him into his torso so they balanced together intimately—on display for anyone who might walk into the garage. The gesture wasn’t lost on Jeremy, and he said, “I’m not trying to be a jerk.”
“I know.” Blue eyes still languid with the last vestiges of sleep stared back at him. “Can you give me until the Oscars?”
Jeremy stiffened. “What happened to ‘give me until the premiere’?”
Kit’s arms tightened. “I’ll break it off with Amber. Today.”
“I’m starting to feel like a bitchy girl,” Jeremy muttered darkly. “Fucking do it before I start bleeding out my dick or something.”
Laughter rumbled from Kit, vibrating into Jeremy’s chest. “I’m not letting you forget you said that.”
“I’m sure you won’t.” Reluctantly, Jeremy pushed away.
“Call me?”
“If I can.” The trunk clicked as Jeremy unlocked it with his fob. “They said we have a sat phone we can use, but no cell service.”
“Where are you going exactly?” Kit followed him to the rear of the car.
Jeremy tossed in his bags and closed the trunk. “Fucked if I can pronounce it. Some jungle. I get to crawl through mud and bleed a lot. Should be box-office worthy, don’t cha think?”
Kit snorted and opened the driver’s side door for him. “Yeah. Well, don’t come back with any exotic parasites up your ass.”
“Ah. I get it.” Jeremy paused, hand on the hood as he gave Kit an arch look. “I’m not going to see anyone else until we resolve this. We’re just taking…a break.”
Kit glanced over the top of the car, his blond brows drawn together. “Yeah. Sure.”
The door thudded shut, and silence pressed on Jeremy’s ears. He pulled his seat belt over his torso, and he clicked it into place at the same time he started the engine. A knock sounded on the window. He let it down, and Kit leaned in to press a last kiss on his lips. Straightened. Then walked away.
Watching his loping stride, Jeremy detected a heaviness to his shoulders that hadn’t been there the first time they’d met. He missed the carefree Kit—stupid bonehead. Jeremy shook his head and backed out of the space to drive into the bright California sunlight. When he returned, they’d see what they could do about bringing him back.
Kit entered his too-silent condo and automatically looked around for signs of Jeremy. A crooked picture in the entryway. The jade lamp still on the floor. Glass glittering next to the out-of-position sofa. His scent�
��spicy and clean—lingered in the air. He wandered into the bathroom and fingered the still-damp towel on the rack. Water dripped down the glass panes of the shower, and moisture hung in the air. In the bedroom, the rumpled sheets smelled of him, and the impression in the pillow outlined where his head rested last night.
Spying his cell phone on the bedside table, Kit lifted it and dialed Amber’s number. It rang six times, and hope flared. Maybe she wasn’t speaking to him? Maybe she’d already decided to break things off after he disappeared on her last night, leaving her to take a cab home? The fumbling sound of the phone being dragged across fabric, however, dashed his hopes.
“Hullo?” She sounded half-dead.
“Amber?”
“Oh. It’s you.” She rolled over, and he pictured her looking at the clock. “Unless you’re calling to apologize, call back at a decent hour.”
“We’re through, Amber.”
A pause while her sleep-soaked mind absorbed the information. “I’m coming over.”
“No.”
“Your funeral.”
Icy fingers fisted Kit’s gut. He didn’t know what she meant, but he knew a threat when he heard one. “What do you want?”
She couldn’t be pregnant. He hadn’t fucked her since they’d gotten back together. Not that she’d tried to get him into bed. He’d thought it strange but figured she had a piece on the side and wanted him for the clubs he could get her into. Half an hour later, he would have congratulated himself for seeing through her if she weren’t holding out her cell phone as it played a three-minute clip of him and Jeremy drunkenly blowing one another in Kit’s bedroom.
“When?” He saw his hair swing forward as he bent over Jeremy’s cock. “You bitch. You took that the night we all went to the Viper. Last year.”
A pink-glossed grin broadened Amber’s already too-wide mouth. The camera might love her, but in person, she looked like something skeletal and freak-featured. He tried to grab for the phone, but she snatched it away.
Acting Out Page 20
