Infamous

by Jenny Holiday

  Hunter had developed a pretty serious case blue balls himself on the endless taxi ride to the hotel. So while he opened his mouth to Jesse’s plundering tongue, he yanked Jesse’s T-shirt up and ran his hands over his back, needing to touch bare skin.

  Too soon, the elevator dinged, and the door opened to their floor. Jesse grunted his displeasure, but picked up the bag and retook Hunter’s hand. Speed-walked them down the hallway.

  The other elevator dinged behind them.

  “Hey! Doc!”

  It was the band. Hunter stopped. Jesse rolled his eyes and made a vague noise of frustration.

  “Hi, guys,” Hunter said. He was glad to see them—they’d become close over the last year, and he’d missed them too.

  As everyone exchanged greetings, Billy rolled up the cuff of his pants. “Doc, can you look at—”

  “Later.” Jesse planted a hand on Hunter’s lower back and pushed.

  Laughing, Hunter let himself be propelled to a door a little farther down the hallway. As Jesse clicked the door open, Hunter called over his shoulder, “I’m sure it’s fine, Billy, but I’ll look at it later to make— Oof!”

  Jesse shoved him into the room, bolted the door, and pulled his T-shirt over his head as he turned. Then he toed off his shoes and reached for Hunter’s shirt.

  “I should fucking rip this off you,” Jesse growled. “That’ll teach you to wear a goddamned button-down shirt when you’re coming to see me.”

  “You love my button-down shirts,” Hunter teased, starting on the buttons from the bottom since Jesse was working his way down from the top.

  “Only because I love everything about you.” Jesse lowered his head and took one of Hunter’s nipples in his mouth. “I might love you more in a T-shirt, though.”

  Hunter moaned at the sharp lance of need that sliced through him when Jesse’s lips made contact with his body, and then again in protest when Jesse pulled away.

  Jesse started unbuttoning his own jeans. “Get naked,” he ordered.

  Hunter started to obey, but he only had his pants shoved down to his upper thighs when Jesse, who’d had a head start, fell to his knees and took Hunter’s dick out.

  “Ahhh,” Jesse sighed, nuzzling it with his face for a few seconds before swallowing it.

  “Oh my God!” Hunter bit out. He started to lose his footing—Jesse literally made him weak in the knees—but Jesse steadied him with a palm to each ass cheek.

  This was where he belonged: caught between Jesse’s mouth and hands, trapped. His heart swelled as pressure built in his lower back. “You’re going to make me come way too fast.”

  Jesse popped right off. “Not yet. I need to be inside you.” He looked up at Hunter, his pale eyes glittering. “Okay?”

  “Yes,” said Hunter, this time giving in to the weak-kneed thing and falling back on the bed.

  This was big. They’d both had STI testing done when they first—finally—got back together and had them repeated recently. The results of the latest round had come in last week, and they were both clear. Which meant—

  “I’m going to fuck you bareback,” Jesse said, lubing up his dick. “I’m going to come inside you.”

  Hunter moaned, his cock leaking at the bold declaration.

  Jesse finished stripping off Hunter’s pants, and then he was everywhere, kissing him frantically on the mouth, spreading lube around Hunter’s hole, his fingers massaging, preparing the sensitive opening.

  “Do it,” Hunter exhorted, bearing down against Jesse’s fingers as the burning gave way to pleasure. “Do it now.”

  Jesse reared up, sat back on his knees, took his dick in hand, and slid in. “Oh, fuck, you feel amazing,” he said, blinking rapidly and pausing once he was buried in Hunter to the hilt.

  Jesse was always doing this thing where he stopped when he was fully sheathed in Hunter and gazed at him in wonder. He’d done it the first time, and he continued to. It was like he couldn’t believe his good fortune, like he had to stop and take everything in. Hunter appreciated it, but it also drove him bananas.

  “Move,” he gasped, afraid he would come right then and there, before getting to experience any friction.

  Jesse did, pulling almost all the way out and then sliding back in.

  “Harder,” Hunter said. “More.”

  “Bossy,” said Jesse, but he grabbed Hunter’s ass, tilted it up a bit, and started thrusting.

  “Oh fuck, just like that.” Hunter tried to keep his eyes focused—his vision was going blurry from the onslaught of pleasure as Jesse grazed his prostrate with every stroke. He didn’t want to miss anything. Wanted to memorize the sight of his beloved, brow furrowed as he worked, long dark hair tousled, gaze never leaving Hunter’s.

  “You,” Jesse said when he was at the bottom of the next stroke, buried fully in Hunter. Then he pulled out, saying, “Are,” at the bottom of the next stroke. It was like he wanted to punctuate the importance of what he was saying, to fuck the words into Hunter. With the next stroke, he reached down and jacked Hunter’s cock as he bit out, “Mine.”

  “Yes,” Hunter said, both because he agreed with the statement, but also because it was the only word he could summon—it seemed like the only word in the world just then—as they came together.

  Jesse collapsed on Hunter’s chest, and Hunter held him, stroking his hair as they came back to earth. Eventually Jesse rolled off him, reached for the bedside Kleenex box.

  “You hungry?” he asked as he cleaned Hunter up. “When did you last eat? Let’s order room service.”

  Hunter smiled at the sudden—yet predictable—change in topic. There was no use arguing, he’d learned, and truthfully, he loved it when Jesse fussed over him. And he was starving.

  When the knock signaling the arrival of their food came, Hunter’s stomach growled audibly. A waiter pushed a trolley in, set up a table, uncovered their meals, and opened a . . . bottle of champagne?

  Hunter shot Jesse a questioning look. He’d been in the bathroom when Jesse had placed the order. Jesse shrugged. Hunter walked the waiter to the door, tipped him, and locked it after him.

  “Oh!” He jumped when he turned, because Jesse was right there—he’d expected him to already be seated at the table across the room.

  “I did see a mystery blond woman in Bond Street,” he said quickly, his eyes darting around like he was nervous.

  “What?” Jesse had pledged to be faithful to Hunter while on tour, and Hunter had never doubted Jesse’s loyalty. But maybe he should have? He was confused more than truly worried, though. “What are you talking about?”

  “I was in a store when that shot was taken. They must have taken it through the window. I was in Harry Winston. The mysterious blond woman worked there. She helped me pick this out.”

  Jesse dropped to his knees.

  No, he dropped to one knee.

  “Holy shit.” In a million years, he had not seen this coming.

  Jesse quirked a smile that was half-amused, half-nervous. “That wasn’t really the answer I was hoping for.”

  Hunter opened his mouth to say yes. Just because he hadn’t seen it coming didn’t mean he hadn’t secretly fantasized about this.

  Jesse cut him off, though. “But that’s okay, because I haven’t asked properly yet. I thought about doing a big public thing at a show, or writing a song or something. But then I thought, no. I want it to be just us. You standing there and me saying, you are the most unexpected thing that has ever happened to me. You exploded my whole life. My heart. I love you so much, it’s astonishing. And I know we haven’t talked about it, and maybe you think getting married is straight-people bullshit, but I don’t care. You can say no then. But I can’t not ask.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly as he opened the small velvet box he’d been holding. Inside was a slim platinum wedding band. Simple and shiny and perfect. Hunter had to bite his lip to keep from crying.

  “So,” Jesse continued, “Dr. Hunter Wyatt, will you marry me?”

&n
bsp; “Yes.” It was still the only word in the world when it came to Jesse.

  And then they were hugging and laughing and maybe crying a little too. When things started getting heated, Jesse pushed him away. “You know Billy is going to burst in here any moment asking you to look at his butt, so you’d better eat.” He led Hunter to the table and poured the champagne. “You’re going to need your strength—we both are—because this time, I think maybe they really are bedbug bites.”

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Jenny Holiday’s Infamous!

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  Super-duper thanks to Sarah Lyons, Chris Muldoon, L.C. Chase, Amelia Vaughn, Alex Whitehall, and everyone at Riptide Publishing for being game to embark on this hybrid adventure with me. I’ve loved working on this book with you and so appreciated your flexibility and open-mindedness as we figured out how to publish the Famous books and make them hang together as a series.

  My agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, gets props not only for not blinking when I said, “I want to publish a series that is mixed m/f and m/m, but I want to self-publish the m/f and sell the m/m,” but for being enthusiastic and smart about how to go about actually making it happen. (And, you know, for making this deal poolside while bailing sand out of the fire pit.)

  My friends Audra North and Sandra Owens provided extremely helpful feedback on early drafts. Sometimes, I look back on the junk I send them and think THANK GOD FOR SMART FRIENDS.

  Medical romance writer extraordinaire Amy Ruttan helped me with some of the hospital stuff.

  Elle Keck and Sarah McDonald schooled me on the world of dating apps and their accompanying notification sounds. Thank you, my cooler, younger friends!

  Famous

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  The Engagement Game

  His Heart’s Revenge (a male/male romance)

  Regency Reformers series

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  The Likelihood of Lucy

  Viscountess of Vice

  Jenny Holiday started writing in fourth grade, when her aging-hippie teacher, between Pete Seeger songs, gave the kids notebooks and told them to write stories. Jenny’s featured poltergeist, alien invasions, or serial killers who managed to murder everyone except her and her mom. She showed early promise as a romance writer, though, because nearly every story had a happy ending: fictional Jenny woke up to find that the story had been a dream, and that her best friend, father, and sister had not, in fact, been axe-murdered. Today she is a USA Today bestselling author of historical and contemporary romance. She lives in London, Ontario.

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