Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Oliver’s words almost sounded light but there was something stilted to them as well. Like they were said just to say them. They didn’t have any meat to them.
Still, Matt replied with the same teasing content. “Right back at ya. Christ, you can work that dick.”
They both laughed but it ended too soon. Oliver wouldn’t let this go. He faced things head on so Matt wasn’t surprised when he asked, “Why now?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. And really, he didn’t but…there was more to what happened and his coming into this room too. “I read it.”
“Read what?” His voice rose, slightly higher in confusion.
“Your musician, and don’t try and tell me you didn’t write the book. I read it, and I heard it, Ollie. Those were your words and you were writing about me.” He saw too much of himself in Samuel for there to be any other answer. Music had been Samuel’s heart and then he lost it, the same way Matt had.
Oliver had written a book under a pen name for him, a book about him, about finding his music and damned if that hadn’t done all sorts of things to his insides. His brain, his heart, his dick. Everything.
He looked over at Oliver when there was no reply. Oliver stared back, their faces twelve inches away from each other. “No one else would have known that was me…that I wrote that book.”
Matt shrugged. He wasn’t so sure about that. Or maybe Oliver was right and it was something that only Matt would recognize because they’d always been in tune like that. And that book, Samuel’s story…
“I don’t wanna lose it permanently, Ollie…but I don’t know how to find it either.” There was no one else in the world he would admit that to. Not Parker. Not his family. Sometimes not even himself.
Oliver wrapped an arm around Matt’s shoulders and pulled him close. His lips pressed against Matt’s forehead and stayed there—one beat, two beats, three beats before they pulled away. “I know, babe,” he said and kissed Matt’s forehead again.
He couldn’t say what made him do it, but Matt tilted his head up, nudged Oliver until their lips met. As Matt’s mouth opened and his tongue begged for entrance to Oliver’s he wondered what the hell he was doing. Why he was kissing his friend again because before it had been about sex. He knew that when he saw Oliver, but this was different. Yet questioning it wasn’t enough to make him stop.
Oliver opened for him, giving him a taste. His hand went into Matt’s hair and he groaned into Matt’s mouth. He liked the sexy little sounds Oliver made. They urged him to grab onto Oliver’s side and give him a slight tug. Oliver came easily, climbing on top of Matt as he went down onto his back.
He cupped Oliver’s ass, ran a finger down his crack, rubbed his asshole but then just settled for wrapping his arms around him, letting Oliver anchor him. Christ, he hated even using the word anchor but from the moment they’d become friends, that was what Oliver had done for him. Even when Matt fought against it. Even when he told himself he didn’t need it. Even when Matt ran away from it. Oliver’s friendship was his constant.
When Oliver nuzzled his neck, kissing him there, Matt said, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to make a habit out of this.”
“You’re the one who kissed me first.”
“No, you kissed my forehead.”
Oliver laughed against his skin. “And you slipped me the tongue. We sound like we’re sixteen.” He pressed one more quick kiss to Matt’s lips before he stood. His dick was hard, tall and thick against his stomach. He had a nice cock, the head purple and swollen, with pulsing veins in his shaft that Matt suddenly wanted to taste.
Christ, he wanted to devour his friend all of a sudden. He needed to get that shit under control. He’d always been good at forcing himself into one box and Oliver into another. He had to, otherwise, this would have happened a long time ago, and someone would have gotten hurt.
He really fucking hoped that didn’t happen now.
Oliver turned to walk away and Matt started, “Where—”
“I’ll be right back.” Oliver cut him off and went to his walk-in closet and disappeared inside. Matt heard a box open, heard papers rub against cardboard before Oliver came out with a thick folder in his hand that Matt would recognize anywhere. It was manila colored. The front would be full of doodles and random shit he’d drawn when he was younger. The inside was stuffed full of music that Matt had written himself—most weren’t finished. They were half-done or less, all pieces he’d started but realized they were shit until one day, toward the end of senior year in high school he’d thrown them away. “How…?” He started but couldn’t make himself finish.