PING-PONG TABLE SWORD FIGHTING
Jude
This suite is the shit. Plush living room, a fully stocked bar, and a bathroom the size of my New York apartment. Plus, the shower is tops.
TJ and I get clean together, washing off the flight. Once we’re dry, he tugs on basketball shorts, and I pull on black boxer briefs with banana illustrations on them. We head to the living room, where he tells me he’s making a reservation at a sushi place for Saturday night.
He holds up his phone. A mouth-watering piece of mackerel sashays across the screen. “This place in The Extravagant has private rooms, so I’m going to book one. Jason will be here. Luke, too, from the Leopards. And Christian Laird is also here for the concert. You cool with him joining us?”
So much cooler than I was a week ago. “Sounds like a who’s who of queer sports stars and actors.”
He laughs. “Pretty much.”
“Sounds like my kind of dinner party. And Christian is perfectly fine. Anyone but the Man’s Man is welcome,” I say as I pad over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, checking out the bright lights of the city spread out below us, an invitation to revel in the night.
I plan to, Vegas.
“Done. I made the reservation and texted the guys,” TJ announces. I turn from the window as he sets his mobile on the bar, then grabs a bottle of champagne and pours.
I meet him in the middle of the living room, in front of the couch, where he hands me a flute. “To your absolution,” he says.
I give him a crooked grin. “And it’ll be more than . . . lip service.”
“It better be a full-service lip service,” he says.
As he swallows some champagne, I stare, watching his Adam’s apple move. I never imagined taking a drink could be so sexy or that it was possible to be this attracted to someone. It’s a little terrifying to want so intensely. The closer I get to him physically, the closer I feel emotionally. I worry about us going too fast and imploding before the job is done.
Before the final week.
But I can’t seem to find the will to slow down. I drink some of the bubbly then set it down on the coffee table as we sink onto the couch together. TJ stretches an arm around me, tracing lazy, luscious lines on my shoulder. “You know that ping-pong scene I worked on today?”
Wherever his question is leading, it sounds like someplace I want to be. “I know of it,” I tease.
“It wasn’t just a friend scene,” he says.
I sense he’s offering me a bit of himself that he’s guarded until now, and my ears perk up. “What was it?”
“Their first sexy scene.” He reaches for my hips, pulls me onto his lap.
Opening up about his story gives me a double boner—I’ve got a brain one and a dick one. The latter’s getting bigger as I straddle him. “And what did your guys do?”
His hand coasts up my back. “Your favorite thing,” he whispers.
I grind my dick against his hard-on.
His dirty smile says you know it.
I have so many questions about what he wrote, but top among them is his tunnel vision. “Wait—is that what you were doing on the flight?”
“It was.” He sounds devilishly pleased.
“You mean while I was reading my script, then listening to a memoir, then snoozing for a bit, you were writing hot dick-on-dick action right next to me on the flight?”
“Spoiler alert—they both got off at the end,” he stage-whispers, the cheeky bastard.
I howl in delight. “I’m so fucking jealous of your characters.”
TJ laughs as he runs his hands up and down my arms. “I’d never leave you hanging either, baby.”
“I know that. But here’s what I don’t know,” I ask, lazily rocking my pelvis against his. “How did you write it and not haul me into the bathroom to join the mile-high club?”
“A tremendous amount of discipline,” he says, amused. Then he raises a finger to make a point. “Also, the ping-pong table came in real handy in the scene.”
When I connect the dots, I’m pretty sure I’ve hit the TJ jackpot. “Wait. They got it on at the ping-pong table? After they played ping-pong with their friends?”
He nods, all sly and proud. “When their friends left, the heroes found other uses for the ping-pong table.”
I mime, putting a medal around his neck. “I’m officially giving you an award for the Best Alternative Use of Sporting Equipment.”
He gives a tiny bow of his head. “I humbly accept.”
As we chat more about the mechanics of ping-pong table sword fighting, something clicks for me. Those uncomfortable feelings from earlier today? They’re not so uncomfortable anymore. Sure, a part of me wants to be his muse. But a bigger piece of me just wants to be let into his world. TJ and I bonded in the first place over the artistic impulse. Creativity connects us. Art is our vitamin.
I want to share our passions. To talk about his stories and my scripts and our worlds.
But right now, libido is in the driver’s seat. “Did it turn you on when you were writing? Did it get you hot?”
He tugs on my hair, jerking my head back so he can lay a possessive kiss on my throat. “Is it hot when we rub off?”
Fair point. “Everything we do is.”
When he lets go of my hair, his gaze roams over me in a brand-new way—open and curious, like he’s contemplating his sex list. When he looks at me like this, I’m riled up and even more eager to please him than I usually am. Ever since he brought it up the other day, I can’t stop thinking about fucking him. I’ve got to talk about it. “That long list of things you want in bed?” I prompt.
“Yeah?”
“It’s been a long while since I’ve topped,” I confess.
“We don’t have to change a thing if you don’t want to, Jude,” he says, then leans up, brushes his lips to mine.
His kiss is tender, a permit to say I don’t want to top him. It’s lovely that he’s giving it, but I’m not sure I’ll accept. I rock my ass against the ridge of his erection, enjoying this position with clothes on, just as I’ve enjoyed it naked. “I really love when you fuck me. So much. But I want to do this for you. With you,” I add. Truly it’s both. “The thing is, I’m worried I can’t make it good for you,” I admit.
He pulls back, startled. “Really? It’s hard for me to imagine not liking anything we do.”
“Right, but it’s a lot of fucking responsibility to top,” I laugh, trying to downplay my feelings.
“I get that,” he says thoughtfully. “But Jude?”
“Yeah?”
“Just because I have a list doesn’t mean we have to do it. Sex is in the head, and my head’s always in it with you. Any and every way I get to touch you is so damn good for me.”
“I do want to. I’ve been a little obsessed since you mentioned it. I really get off on your pleasure.”
“That’s what got me thinking about switching,” he says softly. “When we were in your dressing room at Pillow Talk, I was this close to asking you to drill me into the bed that night.” He seems so vulnerable as he looks down then back up to check my reaction.
My heart goes up in flames.
Oh hell.
This is how I fall for him. Every time he opens up like this, my heart leaps into his hand. “What stopped you then?”
He rolls his eyes. “My own stupid shit. I wanted to find the perfect moment.” He sketches air quotes. “And that’s why I told you in bed the other day. I have to stop waiting for perfect moments to say what’s on my mind. Especially because . . .” He slows to take a breath. “I’ve had a long time to think about bottoming.”
“Since LA you mean?”
He shakes his head, smiling slyly. “More like . . . my whole life. I’ve never bottomed before,” he adds, and he sounds nervous and excited.
I need a moment to take in the enormity of that statement. He wants me to be his first. That’s . . . intense. “Why now? Were you just never into it before?”
He blows out a breath then continues his confession. “Well, I didn’t have sex till college, so there’s that. And, this may shock you, but I’m also kind of a control freak,” he says, deadpan.
“You are such a control freak,” I say, laughing.
“Guilty as charged,” he says, then his smile evaporates. His eyes go serious. “And to answer your other question—why now? Because . . . it’s you. I really want to feel everything with you.”
My heart rockets to the moon, and I have only one answer. “Then I’m going to top the fuck out of you,” I say, and I seal it with a declarative kiss.
Topping him is a tall order, though, and I’m not ready for it tonight, so when I break the kiss, I say, “But would you be okay if we waited a little longer?”
He pulls back. Then he clears his throat. “Of course.”
Before he can retreat, I grab his face. “TJ, it’s not bad. It’s just . . . remember what we said in Pomander Walk? You and I go too fast. We don’t really have another speed. And this—this is big. I want to make it amazing for you. I want to take our time. I want it—don’t laugh–to be something special.”
He’s stripped bare as he answers: “Same here.”
“And I might also need to read up. Find a few articles on how to blow your man’s mind when you rail him for the first time,” I say.
He smiles, easy and free. “I see you already don’t plan to go easy on me.”
“Fuck no. I’m going to wreck you in Paris. Or London. Either place,” I say in a filthy promise.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“But I have to say, I’m a little floored. You’ve written first times so well, I thought it was from experience.”
He laughs sweetly, then threads a hand through my hair. “Thank you. But it’s never about the ABCs. I’ve never been with a woman either, and I write those scenes in my straight romances.”
“True, true. And you do write passionate straight sex,” I say.
“Because a sex scene is never about sex,” he says.
This is what I want with TJ. Closeness, connection, a window into his world. “What are they about to you?”
He brushes a firm kiss onto my lips. “Exploration.” Another kiss on my ear. “Intimacy.” Then, a bite of the lobe. “Trust. Every scene is about something else. You just get into the head of the character and what they’re feeling, what they want.”
I’m even more turned on now. Incredibly curious too. “What am I feeling right now? What do I want?” I ask, breathless for the answer.
He points to the doorway to the bedroom. “I’ll show you what you want. Now.” He’s all rough and commanding.
Yes, sir.
I leap off the couch. Champagne glasses in hand, he follows me to the bedroom.
“On your stomach, baby,” he tells me.
I obey. Anticipation curls tight in my body as he jerks my briefs down my legs then sheds his shorts. TJ climbs over me, straddling me. His hard cock presses against my lower back and the weight of it makes me groan.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
I comply.
Then, I sense the flute tip above my back before feeling it. The pour of the liquid onto my skin. I squirm when the first few drops of champagne hit my spine. The second his lips touch my back, I moan.
His tongue coasts down me, following the path of the drink. I wriggle on the bed.
He drizzles a little more champagne at the top of my ass, then laps up the drink right before the liquid slides between my cheeks. I feel decadent, then hot and bothered when he moves up me and drops his face to my neck.
“When he kisses my neck, I shudder,” TJ begins, voice low and smoky as he presses his lips to me, telling me a bedtime story. “His tongue grazes my shoulder, and I melt into the bed.”
A few seconds pass as the erotic awareness fully registers.
He’s narrating me.
He’s writing what I’m feeling right now. What I want, word by word. Holy fucking hell. It’s so sexy to have someone read you so well.
“Write me more,” I urge.
“His mouth travels down my back,” he murmurs as he kisses his way along my spine. “He’s so close to where I want him. My dick thumps against the mattress and I’m aching for him to spread me apart. Does he know how much I want him to rim me?”
More. Than. Anything. “So much,” I rasp. “I want your mouth so fucking much.”
I can feel TJ’s dirty smile as he kisses the top of my ass. Then a hot gust of air from his lips as he spreads my cheeks apart.
“Yessss,” I moan. I’ve been craving his mouth on me for days. I rut against the bed, seeking relief for my hard-on.
TJ flicks his tongue down my ass, whispering as he goes. “His mouth is so close to me right now. I’m a ticking time bomb,” he says, and he’s dead-on as he writes me out loud. “I’m going to detonate when he fucks me with his tongue.”
I am humping the bed, and he hasn’t even—
“Oh fuck,” I shout as he presses a hungry kiss to my hole. “Yes, fucking yes.”
A dark, delicious pleasure pierces me. TJ groans savagely then raises his face. “I’m done writing you. My mouth is about to become really fucking occupied. So know this . . . I’ve been dying to taste you.”
I grab the sheets, clutching at them. “Fuck, TJ. Do it. Just do it, please.”
An appreciative rumble tears from his throat. Then, he flicks his tongue along my rim. A blinding wave of lust crashes over me. I shove my hand down my body, grab my dick, stroke it. He pushes my hand away.
“Wait,” he says.
The fucker. He won’t let me jerk. He wants to edge me. I’m not sure I can withstand edging. But when he buries his face in my ass, his beard scraping deliciously over my flesh, I can’t think. My brain flatlines as he fucks me with his tongue. I go boneless. I lose track of time. Of reality.
After a few heady minutes of mind-bending pleasure, he flips me over and licks a possessive stripe down my shaft. I shudder. Then, he sucks on my balls, and I claw at the sheets again. I’m this close. But he’s not done with the carnal deluge.
He pushes my thighs apart and fucks me with his tongue one more time.
I’m babbling. Words are too hard. Everything’s too hard.
And I have to come.
I grab my dick, but he swats my hand away this time too. “Please,” I beg.
He rises, devours my cock with his mouth, and I am done. My back arches, and my balls constrict. I shout a warning before my orgasm overwhelms all my senses.
It’s so good. It feels like it’ll never stop.
But eventually, the shockwaves subside as he lets me fall from his mouth.
TJ heads to the bathroom, turns on the tap. I’m still a panting, shuddering mess when he returns to the bed, staring at me like a predator. He covers me with his body. His breath is minty, and we kiss slow and deep for a long time.
Eventually, we separate.
“I was going to edge you, but I couldn’t stop. I wanted your come in my throat,” he tells me.
“Thank you for your lip service. I really needed to come,” I say, then I kiss him again, holding his face in my hands and keeping him close.
We make out for a while, each slow kiss melting into the next one, then the next.
But I have plans for him. I push up on my elbows. “Get on your back.”
His smile is a Vegas billboard. He shifts to his back, his cock a flagpole. I grab the lube and drizzle it on my fingers. Then I grip his cock with one hand and slide a finger down to his ass.
TJ takes a deep, steadying breath, then lets his legs fall open wide.
It’s a move so trusting my heart thumps. Damn him for making me fall harder.
Everything, every single thing, makes me want to throw this final week out the window and shout you are mine.
But I can’t. Not just yet. There’s too much at stake.
I swallow the declaration, I bury the wild storm of feelings, and I focus on this moment only. On the orgasm, I plan to wring from my man. I press the pad of a finger against his ass, push it in slightly.
Sucking in a breath, he grabs at the covers, clutching the sheets.
“Good?”
“Almost,” he whispers.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” I tell him gently.
TJ exhales slow and steady.
I ease out my finger, pour on more lube, then return to my mission.
As I crook my finger, I record his reactions. The set of his jaw, the pace of his breath, the way he squeezes his eyes shut.
Soon, his exhale turns into a plea. “More.”
“I’ll give it to you.” I want more of his pleasure. I need all of his ecstasy. After I lube up again, I work two fingers in while still stroking his shaft.
His whole body trembles.
“Don’t stop,” he mutters, and that command scorches me from head to toe.
“I won’t.”
As I open him, the tightness on his face drains away. His lips curve up.
I feel like a prince. “Can you take another?”
He nods, a little sex drunk now. “Yeah, gimme more,” he says as if he’s floating.
Once I fill him with three fingers, he finds his rhythm. The moans that fall from his lips are filthy. When he opens his eyes, they scan my body, settling on my cock. “Can you come again?”
“Maybe?” I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.
“Get on me,” he says.
I ease out my fingers, coat my palm one more time, then I cover him, getting a hand between us.
“Fuck, baby, yes,” he groans.
Our cocks slide together. I curl my hand loosely around them, give a few slow, tempting strokes.
Wrapping an arm around my back, he jerks my chest closer to his. Our skin is slick and hot. Our breath comes fast. Then, he unleashes a feral moan, a sign he’s on the edge. I tighten the grip and jack us with purpose. In no time, TJ shouts, “Yes, coming now.”
When he shoots in my hand, my dick jumps, getting in on it too, as another orgasm racks my body.
Holy fuck. I haven’t come twice in an hour since—
—since I don’t even know.
Guess I did get lucky in Vegas.
TJ’s breathing like he’s run a race, grinning like he won first place in it.
I feel dizzy and a little lost in all these sensations. But I’m found too, as new wants and wishes demand attention.
How to hold on to those desires is the question.
For now, though, I’m still floating somewhere above the city, and I don’t want to come down.