Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Zakary’s heart beats so hard, he swears he can feel the bed beneath him shaking. When Jonatho’s tip slides in, Zakary lets out a gasp, as if surprised by it, and the face Jonatho returns is a combination of adorable and downright devilish. “You sure you’re ready for me?” he asks, and Zakary hurriedly nods. Jonatho slides in deeper, then deeper still. His head dips, bringing their faces closer, and Zakary is once again spellbound by the playwright’s eyes. He’s never felt closer or more intimate with another person, let alone a gorgeous man he has admired from a distance for so long. As Jonatho starts to gently pump him, Zakary’s cock swells and bobs between them with a certain urgency.
Regardless of Zakary’s impatience, Jonatho takes his time to savor every moment, every rocking of their hips, every squirm of delight on Zakary’s face. He clearly knows how to give Zakary a good time, and he is in no hurry to rush this. They’re united in this private, cherished moment. The world is far, far away. The show doesn’t exist, nor does its copious stresses or its temperamental lead actor. The only two in the spotlight now are Zakary and Jonatho and the crackling, hungry energy between them.
Jonatho takes the cue when Zakary starts to moan, and the pace picks up. His hand finds its place once again on Zakary’s cock, stroking it between them. “I’m right there,” Zakary whimpers. “Right there, right there …”
“Yeah, you are,” Jonatho agrees, grinning, seeming to feel his own impending climax approach. “You’re right there with me.”
Zakary comes quicker than expected, letting out a sigh as he erupts between their bodies. The way his body contracts triggers Jonatho’s climax, too, and the men become one in this moment, moaning as pleasure wracks their bodies from the tips of their toes to their gasping, anguished faces.
The men collapse, clinging to one another. Zakary feels Jonatho still inside him, throbbing. The air is thick with their efforts as they lay still. Zakary has never felt more alive, more happy …
More seen.
6
The Morning Scene
Zakary wakes up to sunlight spilling over his face. He squints against it, lifts a hand, then turns his face away. His eyes fall upon the naked back of a peacefully sleeping Jonatho, and it’s then he realizes last night wasn’t just a dream.
A moment later, Jonatho stirs, turns over, and cracks open his eyes. He lifts a hand to shield his face, too, then gives Zakary a sleepy smile. “Morning, Red.”
Zakary smiles back, surprised. “Hey.”
Jonatho seems to note the look on his face. “What? Did you expect me to take off while you were asleep?” He frowns suddenly with the thought. “Oh. Was I supposed to? Should I not have stayed over?”
“No, it’s fine. Great, actually. I … guess a tiny part of me did think you’d take off in the night.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because you’re heading back to New York after the weekend anyway.”
The statement takes all the humor out of Jonatho’s eyes. He drops his hand and gazes down at the crinkled sheets. “Hmm. Well, when you say it like that …”
Zakary’s heart sinks. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to destroy the moment. Or whatever this is. I’m really glad you’re here. Ecstatic, even.”
“You didn’t destroy anything. Honesty is a beautiful thing. It’s what most artists rely on to improve and stay aware … unless you’re a pretentious twat living in the realm of denial.” Jonatho puts on another smile, then meets Zakary’s eyes. “There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be right now than right here in this bed with the fiery-red mystery that is Zakary Tisdale … about whom I think I have a lot more yet to learn.”
The playwright’s words make Zakary more happy than he can express. “I’ll cook you breakfast,” he quite suddenly announces, happy, then hops straight out of bed wearing just his briefs and pads down the hallway to the kitchen.
He had left the window cracked open all night, which he doesn’t normally do. To his surprise, he finds Tiger having come even further inside his apartment, perched on the top of the couch. Her head pops up at his entrance, alarmed, and at once, she seems to be caught between deciding whether to stay or dart for the still-opened window.
Zakary stays in the kitchen, not wanting to spook her. He leans against the counter and smiles at her. So the playwright isn’t the only one who stayed overnight, he muses privately to himself. “You can stay if you want,” he tells the on-edge cat in a sweet, soft voice. “I can make you a little breakfast, too.”
Tiger only stares back in reply, unmoving, still ready to run off.
Zakary reaches down, pulls out a can from the cabinet, then prepares another saucer of food. Tiger watches his every move. He brings it to her table by the window, replacing the (very licked-clean) saucer from last night. When he backs away, Tiger practices very little caution when she leaps from the couch to the floor, then up onto her table to feast. After a moment of watching her, Zakary takes a few tentative steps toward the table, then slowly brings his hand to her head. Tiger barely notices when his fingers gently stroke her ears, petting her as softly as a cloud.