“Mmm. Booze.” Sam slid his hand underneath my panties, his fingertips drawing tiny circles on my skin.
“Ever kiss a girl?” I asked, pressing my hand against his chest; his heart was pounding, just like mine was.
Sam snorted—wicked sexy—then he closed his mouth over mine. His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue moving expertly against mine. And yeah, he tasted faintly of tequila.
That kiss was like nothing I’d ever experienced. Sam lit me up from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes, set every nerve in my body on fire. Sam’s hands were all over me, caressing me from my back to my thighs, and his bare feet stroked my calves. It was a full body kiss in every sense of the term. I have no idea how long that kiss lasted, whether it was a second or a minute or an hour. All I knew was that I wanted more.
“Do all gay men kiss like you?” I gasped when we parted.
“Not hardly,” he said, his hand traveling from my butt up to my breasts. “No more than all breasts are as beautiful as yours.”
He started in with the fondling again, so I thought it was time to set some ground rules. “Let me explain something about the female anatomy to you,” I said, ruffling my fingers through the dark hair at the nape of his neck. “When you touch a woman’s breasts, especially her nipples, it tends to arouse her a great deal.”
“Really,” he said, arching a dark brow. “What about yesterday, at the shoot?”
“After your fluffing I was so horny Giovanni almost looked good.”
Sam laughed, pressing his forehead against mine. “And now?”
“Maybe I’m a little excited,” I said, fluttering my lashes. We laughed together, then Sam kissed me again while his fingers caressed their way down my abdomen. When he paused to circle my navel I grabbed his wrist and warned, “Go any lower and I’m going for your cock.”
“Promises, promises. Just remember, I get to grab you wherever you grab me.”
“And vice versa?”
“Vice versa.” He slid his fingertips under the top edge my panties, stroking me almost to my clit. “You’re really smooth. Silky, almost. Shave?”
“Wax,” I replied. Only a gay man would interrupt making out for a discussion on depilation techniques. “Keeps you smoother longer.” I undid the top button on Sam’s jeans, then I pulled down his zipper. We stared at each other for a moment, each daring the other, then I finally had enough and shoved my hand inside his boxers. His cock was hot in my hand, so wide at the base I almost couldn’t get my fingers around it.
“You’re frickin’ huge,” I said, shoving aside the blankets for a better look. The gay man in my bed had the most perfect cock I’d ever seen in real life. “Are your balls big too?”
Sam got himself out of his jeans, then he pulled the waistband of his boxers down below his balls. Yeah, they were nice too.
“Great package,” I said, palming the heavy weight of his balls. “I bet all the boys like it.”
Sam ignored my teasing. “I believe I’m owed something.”
I shivered, deliciously aware of what he was owed as Sam nudged me onto my back. I kept hold of his cock, rubbing my thumb against the base of his shaft as he slid his hand inside the front of my panties. He brushed his fingers up and down the front of me a few times before venturing lower. The way he tentatively rubbed my most intimate place was enough to melt me.
“Am I being too rough?” he asked when I gasped.
“No,” I replied, pressing my hips against his hand. “Perfect.”
Sam chuckled, his deep voice rumbling across me. “Good,” he said, his mouth moving across my jaw. “May I look at you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I breathed.
Sam rose up on his knees and peeled off my panties, leaving me in nothing but my thin tank top. Sam looked at me for a moment, then he stripped off his boxers, dropping them on the floor as he straddled my thighs.
“Sorry about yesterday,” he said, one of his hands massaging my pussy while the other fisted his cock. “Making you all horny like that.”
“It’s okay,” I said, rotating my hips under his hand. “Felt kind of good, you know?”
“I do.” He stroked me for another moment, then said, “Well, show me how you work one of these.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re horny, I’m horny,” Sam said, rubbing his cock with long, slow strokes. “Let’s get off.” He leaned closer and said, “Show me how you get off.”
The boozy voice in my head drowned out the rational part of my brain as it pointed out what a bad idea this was. “Are you going to get off with me?”
He pointed his cock at me. “Race you to the finish line.”
“It’s on.”
Sam grinned, then he straightened his back, hand motionless on his shaft. What a gentleman, he was waiting for me. I licked my fingertips, then I pressed my middle and ring fingers against my clit and rubbed, slowly at first, but my pace quickened as Sam stroked himself faster and faster. Masturbating while Sam jerked off over me was the hottest thing I’d ever done, hotter than anything I could have ever imagined, and it wasn’t long before my back arched and the world shattered around me. A moment later, something hot splashed onto my belly.
“Oh, darlin’, I’m sorry!”
I opened my eyes and saw Sam pulling his shirt up and over his head. Just so you know, the top half of him was just as gorgeous as the bottom half. “Let me clean you up, baby.”
I stared down my body as Sam cleaned off the evidence of his orgasm, taking a moment to dab between my thighs. Once he was done he dropped his shirt on the floor by his jeans, then he knelt and took me in his arms.
“Crap, it’s on your shirt too,” he said, then he whipped my tank top right over my head. It was only after he tossed it aside he asked, “Oh, do you mind being naked with me?”
As if me not wearing a shirt really mattered at that point. “Come here,” I said, holding out my arms. Sam let me wrap myself around him, and we held each other as we drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Four
Sam
Before I opened my eyes, I knew that two things were wrong. For one, I was in a bed that wasn’t mine. Too soft, too comfortable, and the sheets and blankets smelled like lavender. I adored the scent of lavender, but I’d never once rubbed tiny purple flowers on my bedding. I’m just not that gay.
That scent of lavender brought me to my second problem: the woman who owned the bed I was currently lying in was snuggled up against me, naked as a jaybird, and damn it all if I didn’t like being in that bed with her. I had no idea what sort of insanity had come over me. I had a nice life here in New York, with cool friends and a budding career, as far removed from my past as I could get. The last thing on my mind had been lolling about in bed with one of Nash’s models, male or female. Then two days ago, I met Britt Sullivan.
I hadn’t been kidding when I told her I’d wanted to call her after the tapas bar and spend the night talking to her, or about wanting to bring her to Astrid’s party. Then, in the ultimate act of serendipity, Britt had strutted right into the party looking like the sexy Bohemian goddess she was. After introducing Britt to the boys, I downed shot after shot of liquid courage while I tried to get up the nerve to talk to her. By the time I found her alone I was out of my mind drunk, but Britt didn’t mind me sloppy. She hadn’t minded when I crawled into bed beside her, either.
And there was what happened afterward. If I hadn’t been so embarrassed over coming on Britt’s stomach, I’d have called last night the best sexual experience of my life. Maybe I could get myself a replay that didn’t involve so much mopping up.
Since Britt was still asleep, I took a minute to look around her apartment. It was a small studio—cluttered, but it was a good sort of clutter. One corner held the kitchen, two others the couch and the bed we were nestled in. What interested me the most was the wall between the bed and couch, which contained a table heaped high with canvases and brushes and tubes of paint.
Good
God, Britt was an artist. And if the canvases propped up against the wall were her work, she was a damn good one. All that magnificent art multiplied the desire I’d already felt for her by ten. No, a thousand. A million, maybe.
I kissed Britt’s hair, and realized that for all that was good in that room a third thing was wrong: while I’d slept in Britt’s bed, I hadn’t had any nightmares. Some pretty terrible stuff had happened to me when I was a kid, and I had the misfortune of reliving those events whenever I closed my eyes. It made intimacy hard for me. I’d hardly ever been close with a man, much less a woman. Not only had my nightmares forgotten to pay me their nightly visit, lying there in bed with Britt felt more right than anything I’d ever known.
Britt stirred to wakefulness, shifting her hips against me in a way that reinforced the rightness of the situation, then she raised her head and kissed me full on the mouth. “You suck at being gay,” she said against my lips.
I grinned, because it was true. “I thought we were blaming last night on the booze.”
“Mmm. Booze.” Britt stretched next to me, then wrapped her arms and legs around me like an octopus. Maybe that’s why she won’t eat them, because they’re her kin. “You were pretty drunk, and we didn’t really do anything.”
With my forefinger, I tilted her chin up so she faced me. “Excuse me, darlin’? I may have been drunk, but I recall many, many things that were done.”
“Not really. We made out a bit, then we got ourselves off. Without penetration, it was just drunk groping.” She leaned forward and kissed my nose. “Don’t worry, Sam, your virtue’s safe with me.”
If I had any more virtue, my balls would be cadmium blue. “Britt,” I murmured, my hand coming to rest on the curve of her bottom. “Short for Britney?”
“Not hardly.” When I kept looking at her, she elaborated, “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to laugh.”
“Scout’s honor,” I said, squeezing her bottom for good measure.
Britt buried her face against my neck. Whatever this story was, it had to be good. “Well,” she began, “my mom got pregnant in the school library.”
“The school library?” I repeated, scandalized.
“Yeah, yeah,” Britt said, her breath hot on my neck. “Anyway, once Mom knew she was expecting she went back to the aisle it, um, happened in, and picked out a name from the books on the shelves.”
“Wait.” I rolled onto my side so I was looking Britt in the eye, and asked, “Is your full name Britannica?”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “Mom got knocked up in the encyclopedia section.”
“Well,” I said, with my best straight face, “at least it wasn’t in front of the Funk and Wagnall’s shelf.”
We burst out laughing at that, and Britt pounded my shoulder. “Sam, you promised you wouldn’t laugh,” she shrieked. Once we calmed down I rolled onto my back and Britt laid her head on my chest. “You’re different here.”
“Different how?” I asked. I folded one of my arms under my head so I could watch her, and smoothed those brown waves away from her face.
“Your voice, for one. It’s…I don’t know, deeper? And your fake Southern accent’s gone.”
“My accent is authentic Midwestern.” I huffed.
“Uh huh.” Britt traced the column of my throat with her fingertip, then she kissed my Adam’s apple. “And you’re just Sam. Not photographer’s assistant Sam, or awesome partyer Sam, just Sam.”
“I’ll thank you to replace ‘photographer’s assistant’ with ‘aspiring photographer,’” I snapped, rattled that Britt had so effortlessly seen through to the truth of me. “You like being with ‘just Sam’?”
“I do.” She looked up, fixing me with her honey brown gaze. “You don’t let many people meet the real Sam, do you?”
Oh, if she only knew. “Only those worth it.”
Britt smiled, then she leapt out of bed. “Want to shower, Real Sam?”
“Together?” I demanded, both outraged and intrigued.
“Why not?” Britt countered. “It saves water, and after last night we might as well.”
Girlfriend had a point. Girlfriend also had a sweet little bottom that was sashaying toward the bathroom without me. Suddenly I realized I had business of my own to take care of, and I ran in front of her.
“Can I, um…” I began.
Britt pointed toward the opposite corner. “Use the other bathroom.”
“You have two bathrooms?” In a studio this size, two bathrooms were nigh on unheard of.
“Weird, right?” Britt said. “It’s a shared bathroom with the adjacent studio, so be quick. We don’t want anyone getting a peek at that awesome package of yours.”
Heh. Britt thought my package was awesome. I was in and out of the tiny half bath in record time, then I practically ran to the bathroom Britt was in. I heard the shower running, and pushed the door open just in time to see Britt step under the spray. I watched her for a moment, wetting her hair, reaching for the shampoo, and it was like the last thirteen years hadn’t happened. I was just a man, Britt was just a woman…
My cock twitched, reminding what a bad idea all of this was.
“Get down,” I hissed, turning my back to the shower. I wanted to step under that spray with Britt more than anything, but going in at half-mast would just spell disaster.
“Sam?” Britt called. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just looking around, poking through your stuff.”
She laughed. “Stop being a creep and get under the water while it’s still hot. I swear, this building has a water heater the size of a can of Coke.”
I grinned—had I ever grinned so much?—and stepped into the tub just as Britt was rinsing the shampoo from her hair. She blindly reached for the conditioner, but I snatched the bottle from her hand.
“You put this garbage on your hair?” I demanded. It was generic drugstore conditioner, nowhere near worthy of Britt’s silky waves. “What, are you trying to go bald?”
“Cheap conditioner has never made anyone lose their hair,” she said. “It works just fine.”
“I know what I’m getting you for Christmas,” I muttered as I opened the bottle and poured a palmful into my hand. With stuff this terrible, the standard quarter-sized application just wouldn’t do. I massaged the creamy liquid into Britt’s hair, drawing the long strands through my fingers. If I could concentrate on her hair, maybe I could forget about the rest of her.
Just as I had that thought, Britt turned around and faced me. “Now, I know you’re gay,” she said, pouting.
“Proper hair care is what designates one as gay?”
“No, the fact that I’m standing here naked and you’re more interested in my brand of conditioner than me.”
I glanced down at Britt’s face, worried that I’d upset her, but found her wearing a shit-eating grin. “Don’t you worry, darlin’, you’re still the second hottest girl here,” I said, then I gave her breast a tweak with my slippery fingers. Before I did anything stupid—well, more stupid than what I’d already done—I backed her under the spray and rinsed her hair.
“Listen,” I said, pressing my face against the top of her head as the warm water cascaded over us, “I’m sorry about last night. Real sorry. I was drunk, and I shouldn’t have gotten in bed with you, and I’m sorry for—”
“Hey.” Britt touched her fingers to my mouth. “It’s okay. I mean, we mostly just kissed, and I like kissing.”
“Do you now?” I tilted her chin upward and rubbed my thumb across her lower lip. “There’s something about you, Britannica Lynn.”
“My middle name isn’t Lynn.”
“Oh? What is it, then?”
“Janet.”
“Britannica Janet doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.” I draped my arms around her waist, and added, “When you’re with me, you’re my Britannica Lynn.”
“Am I?” she asked, arching a single brow.
“You surely are,” I said, and t
hen I kissed her. I mean, she just said how much she liked kissing, so I was doing her a favor. A kindness, really. The fact that I’d been trying to figure out how to kiss her again since she’d kissed me awake had nothing to do with it. The fact that my cock was standing up straight as a flagpole, well, that was relevant. So relevant it was scaring the shit out of me.
All at once, the hot water we’d been standing under turned Arctic. We shrieked as we broke apart, Britt fumbling at the faucet handles while I jumped out of the tub and grabbed some towels. Once Britt had the water off she fled the tub as well, and I wrapped a towel around her.
“That was fucking cold,” I said through chattering teeth. At least the icy water made my cock go down.
“Like I said, hot water heater the size of a Coke can.” Britt wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her body against mine, warming us both.
“At least you got all of that vile slop out of your hair,” I said, rubbing her back dry with the towel.
Britt stood on her toes and kissed my nose, the tips of her breasts brushing my chest. “Product snob.” With that she freed herself, twisted her hair up in a towel and left the bathroom. I followed, and found Britt rooting around in a dresser drawer. She found what she was after and pulled on a pair of black panties. Figuring naked time was over, I picked up the heap of my clothes.
“Aww, shit,” I said when I touched something damp. I’d forgotten how I had cleaned up Britt and myself with my shirt. “It’s on my frickin’ boxers too.”
Then Britt was standing in front of me, holding out a faded NYU shirt. “This will probably fit you,” she said. “I’d offer you a pair of panties, but I don’t think that would work out too well.”
“Probably not.” I pulled the shirt over my head; it was snug, but it would do. When my head emerged from the collar I saw Britt standing before me, her topless and me bottomless.
“Guess I’ll be going commando,” I said, then I pulled on my jeans. Britt scooped up my shirt and boxers and dropped them into her laundry basket. I’d have just burned the things. Once I found my shoes and socks, which were in a heap by the couch, I turned toward Britt.
Changing Teams Page 3
