Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
I smack his dick, making his ass clench around my cock.
“Fuck!” he hisses. “Fuck!”
“Faster then.”
He stays steady, taunting and teasing.
I slap his dick harder, and he cries out and starts to pull away, but I grip his hips, forcing him to fuck me faster. His fingers dig into my chest as he gives in and starts moving quicker. With his eyes closed and his mouth parted, he looks like a fucking angel. I’ve never seen anything so fucking gorgeous in all my life.
“Come here and kiss me, boy,” I beg, hating how needy I sound.
He flashes me the sweetest of smiles. “I love you, Blaine.”
Our lips crash together, a chaotic thrashing of tongues, lips, and teeth. He owns me heart and soul with one kiss, while I own his body and mind with mine. We’re a perfect pair, creating something fucking magical together.
I’m about to come, so I reach between us and jerk him right into ecstasy. The moment he moans, his ass clenching around my dick, I come with a groan. I fill him up, and when I’m wrung dry, I yank him to me. My cock softens and slips out of him, my seed leaking out all over the fucking place.
We’re a mess, but cleaning up my dirty boy is always the best part. I hug him to me and kiss his sweaty head, holding him close to my heart where he belongs.
“Love you too, Xa. Always will.”
He relaxes against me. It fills me with pride that he lets go of all the pressures of the world and all his inner chaos when we’re together. He frees himself for me, and oh what a gift it is. There have been many men in my past, but not one compares to Xavi Jacobs. He’s feeling and beauty and eroticism and music all wrapped into a broken, sexy-as-sin boy.
I may share him during the day with the world—the one he’s designed for them to see.
But every night, I get Xa. The real him. Free, vulnerable, unsure. He’s given me the softest parts of him and trusted me to take care of him.
He’s my boy.
He’ll always be my boy.
Two months later…
You cut me open.
Filled me up with you.
Never needed stitches, ‘cause you’re the fuckin’ glue.
I smirk, imagining Sofina echoing those words with me. It’ll sound sweet with her velvety voice dripping like honey all over those dark lyrics. Us coming together for a collaboration was one of Ronan’s best ideas yet.
Sofina is fucking brilliant. What started as a dinner between friends quickly turned into a brainstorming session in Ronan’s kitchen. We playfully started singing one of her songs, then one of mine, and then we sort of blended them, jiving off each other. Ronan’s eyes were fucking huge when he and Blaine came in not long after.
And so our collab was born.
We’ve decided to write something new, she and I. We’re going to record two versions—a power ballad, high vocals version, then one with the boys, complete with drums, bass, and heavy guitar riffs. It was our idea to do two of the same songs, recorded differently to try to market them to both the rock and pop crowds. Ronan was true to his word. I proved to him I could stay off drugs and out of trouble, and he renegotiated our contract. “Burn” was just a glimpse of what I could do, and he knew that.
It’s been number one for eight weeks straight with no signs of moving from the top spot.
Ever since that night at Sofina’s bar, it caught fire and has blazed bright since.
You rip me apart and I don’t care.
Everywhere. You’re everywhere.
I scribble down the newest possible lyrics. Tonight, I’ll suck Blaine’s dick, then ask for the password to the wireless Wi-Fi access point he brought with us in case Ronan needs to be in touch. We’re at the cabin, which he likes to keep technology free, but sometimes if I work him just right, he calls me a good boy and gives me whatever the fuck I want. Tonight, I just want to Facetime with my new friend Sofina and see what she thinks.
“Usually when you smirk like that, you’re about to get into trouble,” Blaine says as he shuts the front door behind him.
I’m stunned stupid at the sight of him. He’s been out front chopping wood like a fuckin’ lumberjack since a winter storm is said to be coming this week. But my hot-blooded man is drenched in sweat and had long-lost his fitted Henley. My mouth waters as I take in his ripped, tattooed muscles.
Fuck, he’s hot.
“What?” he asks, arching a brow and rubbing his palm down his chiseled abs. “Like something you see?”
I laugh. “You’re an asshole. You do this shit on purpose, don’t you? Distract me from work.”
“We come here so you’ll play too,” he says, his dark eyes gleaming with wickedness.