Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
ANTHONY
I wake up with Nick curled against my chest, his dark hair sticking up and his eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks.
For a moment, I just lie there, watching him and running through what happened last night. The way Nick showed up at the café, sweaty and out of breath, looking like he’d run the whole way. The relief that flooded through me when he pushed through the door was almost violent.
And it made me realize exactly how much I like him and how invested I am in the idea that this could become something more.
I meant what I said. I’ve never liked anyone at the beginning of a relationship as much as I like Nick right now.
He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a guy. Cute, smart, amazing sense of humor, strong moral compass, someone I can talk to about anything and everything. Someone who makes me feel like just Anthony, not a pop star.
Nick shifts in his sleep, pressing closer, and I can’t help smiling. We fell asleep on top of the bedding, still fully clothed, like teenagers afraid to take things further. The laptop’s still at the foot of the bed, its screen dark.
Sunlight filters through his thin curtains, highlighting the disaster zone that is his bedroom. Clothes everywhere, textbooks stacked precariously on every surface, and of course, the multiple posters of me staring down from the walls like some kind of narcissistic surveillance system.
Nick’s eyes flutter open, and he blinks at me sleepily.
“Hey,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.
He’s so cute like this, all sleep-rumpled, that I can’t help leaning forward to kiss him.
Our kiss starts off soft, just a gentle press of lips. It’s almost careful, like we’re both checking that last night wasn’t some shared hallucination.
Then Nick shifts, tilting his head to change the angle, and the kiss shifts from sweet to hot in about half a second. His tongue brushes my lower lip, and I open for him immediately, my hand sliding up to cradle the side of his face, thumb against his cheekbone.
He tastes like stale coffee and sleep, and I should not find that as hot as I do, but here we are.
He presses into me. I can feel the warmth of his stomach against mine, where both our shirts have ridden up. Just that strip of skin. It’s obscene how much that strip of skin affects me.
I grip his hip and pull him tighter against me, and he responds by rolling his whole body into mine in this slow, deliberate wave that makes the bed creak and my vision go slightly unfocused.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I can’t believe I’m kissing Anthony Devine when I’ve got morning breath,” he says.
“We’ve both got morning breath, so I’m sure they cancel each other out.”
“I’m not sure if that principle has any scientific merit behind it,” he says, but I shut him up with another kiss.
This time, the kiss heats up so fast I’m dizzy with it. Nick’s hands are under my shirt, mine are in his hair.
He tugs at my T-shirt, pulling me onto him, and I go—carefully, because this bed feels like it could collapse at any moment.
Nick doesn’t seem concerned about structural integrity though.
His legs bracket my hips, and his hands slide to my shoulders, gripping the muscle there, thumbs pressing into my collarbones in a way that sends a jolt down my spine to somewhere significantly lower.
I drop my mouth to the hollow of his throat, and his head falls back against the pillow, fingers curling against my shoulders.
I want him so much that it’s actually embarrassing. I’ve written entire albums about desire, and I’ve never felt it like this—this full-body pull toward another person, like every atom in me has decided its new purpose is to be as close to Nick as physically possible.
“What happened to slow?” Nick gasps.
Fuck.
I peel myself away from him like I’m pulling against a gravitational field.
That’s right. I really don’t want to screw things up with Nick.
“We did say slow,” I admit, even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to shut up and keep kissing him.
“We did.” Nick’s chest is heaving. “That was very mature of us.”
“Very mature.”
“On the other hand…” He trails off.
“On the other hand,” I agree.
We stare at each other, both still breathing heavily.
“Okay, let’s think about this logically,” Nick says, which is hilarious given that he’s currently underneath me with his hair wrecked and his lips swollen. “Pros of waiting: we prove we’re not just in this for the physical. We build anticipation. Very romantic.”
“What are the cons of waiting?” I rasp out.
“I might actually die.”
I laugh, dropping my forehead to his shoulder. “That does seem like a significant con.”
“I’m just saying, if you factor in the health risks—”
“Health risks?”
“Sexual frustration is a serious medical condition, Anthony. I read about it on the internet once.”
God, he’s just so cute. How is it possible for someone to be this cute?
“Well, if the internet says so.”
“It’s important to check sexual compatibility early on,” he declares solemnly. “And it has been eight hours since we met.”
“That’s practically an eternity in gay time,” I agree before I start to kiss down his neck again.
“And we’ve been messaging for over a month, that’s got to provide us with some credit, right?” he gasps as I find a particularly sensitive spot.
“Definitely. I’m sure we’ve appeased the slow gods sufficiently that they’re going to bless us with spectacular sex.”
I pull back to examine his expression.
He’s grinning at me. “In gay time, we’re practically an old married couple. In fact, this is basically our anniversary sex.”
I can’t help kissing his smile. I think it’s going to be impossible not to kiss Nick when he looks like that at me, eyes bright, with a cheeky grin.
The grin turns into something else when I rock my hips against his. His eyes go half-lidded and his hands grip my waist, pulling me down harder, setting a rhythm that has the old bed frame squeaking in protest.
Nick’s hand works its way between our bodies, fingers tracing down my stomach before pressing against the front of my jeans, and my hips jerk forward involuntarily. He palms me through the denim, feeling how hard I am, and the knowing look on his face makes heat crawl up my neck.
“I’m taking that as an agreement we’re on the same page?” he asks.
My voice is hoarse. “Definitely.”
And we’re kissing now as we do some frantic clothes removal, removing our jeans as though they’re on fire. My T-shirt gets snagged over my head, and I’m momentarily transformed into a turtle, causing us both to laugh.
Because this is the great part of being with Nick. I’m so relaxed with him right now compared to how I normally am.
I hadn’t realized until now how I’ve felt this pressure in the bedroom since I became famous. The awareness that my partner is sleeping with Anthony Devine, and Anthony Devine should be impressive. Skilled. Confident. Worth the story they’ll tell their friends later.
But Nick isn’t sleeping with Anthony Devine. He’s sleeping with the guy he got to know through late-night conversations, not magazine covers.
Somehow, that changes everything. I don’t have to be impressive. I can just be here.
And so we’re laughing as we’re getting undressed, exchanging kisses and making stupid jokes, and it feels natural. Real. Like we’re just two guys who really like each other, figuring things out together.
At one point, just as he’s about to remove my boxers, Nick glances up at the walls.
“Okay, I have to ask. Is it weird having multiple versions of yourself watching us right now?”
I follow his gaze to the posters. Past me stares down at us from various angles, all perfectly styled hair and smoldering looks.
“It is a bit like having a panel of judges,” I say. “That one’s giving us a seven point five for technique for clothes removal.”
“Only seven point five? Harsh.” Nick pretends to study the poster critically. “I think he’s just jealous that present you is getting action while he’s stuck being two-dimensional.”
“There’s potential I’m going to get performance anxiety from my own face.”
“Personally, I think it’s great. If things get awkward, I can just make eye contact with poster you instead of actual you.”
I laugh so hard I have to bury my face in his shoulder. “That’s the weirdest thing anyone’s ever said to me in bed.”
“I aim to be memorable.”
“Trust me,” I say, pulling him closer and fumbling for the buckle on his pants, “you’re already unforgettable.”
When we’re finally both naked, I take a moment to actually look at him.
Nick’s not built like the guys I usually date, with a perfectly sculpted body that comes from spending lots of time with a personal trainer.
He’s lean and a little soft around the middle, with a trail of dark hair leading down from his navel and a handful of freckles scattered across his chest that I want to map with my mouth.
He catches me staring, and his cheeks flush. “What?”
“Nothing. Just…you’re really hot.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised about it.”
“I’m not surprised. I’m appreciating.” I trace a finger along his collarbone, down to his sternum. “There’s a difference.”
His flush deepens, spreading down his neck, and I file that information away for later. Nick blushes with his whole body. Good to know.
But then Nick’s hand wraps around my cock, and suddenly, I’m not thinking about his blush.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my hips jerking involuntarily.
“Good fuck or bad fuck?”
“Very, very good fuck. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t stop. He strokes me slowly, adjusting his grip when my breathing changes, thumbing over the head in a way that makes my vision blur.
My vision doesn’t improve as he starts to kiss his way down my chest, his breath hot against my skin.
He glances up at me through long eyelashes, a question in his eyes.
“Yes,” I manage. “God, yes.”