Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Baz decided his turn meant he was in charge of everything, and therefore, he had every right to put on some music—smooth jazz—for ambience. He’d take his time distracting Sami in every way he knew how.
He dug his fingers into the points of tension in Sami’s back and neck, teased him with sipping kisses across his body until that giggle Baz had grown to like a little too much chimed through the bedroom.
He didn’t even care about finishing, only that he elicited as many noises of pleasure from Sami as possible.
Something strange happened after; Sami didn’t move away from him. No, as soon as Baz had cleaned them up, he shuffled closer and rested his head on Baz’s bicep, chest still heaving. The glow in his eyes had returned, though he still looked vulnerable. So… real.
Baz couldn’t shake the feeling this was the first time he truly saw Sami—not his performance of a cocky, self-assured Don Juan, but him.
The thought made his heart skip a beat.
“If you ever want to talk about what upset you, you could,” Baz whispered. The moment was too tender to crush with voices louder than the saxophone treating them to a sensual downtempo.
He hadn’t registered the circles his finger was drawing on Sami’s side, just above the comforter bunching at his hips, until Sami glided his palm underneath his. He lifted their hands as if to compare sizes—Baz’s fingers overshot his by a knuckle—before his fingers melted into the gaps.
“How are we supposed to stay mysterious strangers if I go and tell you about my life?”
“Is that what we are?”
Sami didn’t feel like a stranger, not anymore. This version of him, Baz felt he had known forever.
Yes, Sami was—had been?—a drug dealer, and for whatever reason, he now worked for Ian, with seemingly no intention of stopping even though he hated it. But he was also soft. Warm. Baz had given him so many reasons to dislike him, and here he was, still. Listening. Judging. Laughing.
Baz hadn’t laughed this much in years.
“What do you prefer to call it? Frivals with benefits? Ooh, enemies till la petit mort?” Sami wiggled his eyebrows.
“What?” Baz chuckled.
“That’s what French poets call an orgasm because they think every climax saps a fraction of your life away. Weird, right?”
Yeah. Just as weird as the person knowing all these arbitrary facts and his adorable delight in sharing them with Baz. What a privilege that was.
“You’re so dramatic,” Baz said.
“Just another reason to hate me. You’re welcome.”
There was a heartbreaking fragility in Sami’s gaze that made Baz ache with all kinds of things he shouldn’t want, like to hold Sami in his arms all night. To kiss his forehead. To make him a coffee in the morning and cuddle in bed while they watched the city wake up underneath them.
“I do hate you…”
“I hate you too,” Sami whispered warmly. Lovingly. Baz felt presumptuous just thinking it, but there was no denying that Sami was still looking at him with a spark of something real in those expressive, beautiful eyes.
There was magic in the air that Baz was powerless against, drawing them together. Sami’s lips parted. His shallow breaths greeted Baz when he tilted his chin up.
Baz poured all the tenderness he felt into the kiss, and Sami let him. More than that, he reciprocated without hesitation, without pushing for more.
Pure electricity sparked through Baz’s body.
He forgot who they were supposed to be, hell, he forgot his own name.
All he knew was how wonderful Sami’s lips felt, how Sami’s hand glided into his hair, how much he enjoyed feeling it there.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had been kissed like this. If he ever had been kissed like this.
He didn’t want to stop.
Sami pulled back with a frown. “Did you hear that?”
This better not be a setup for a joke that would ruin the mood. “Hear what?”
Sami’s eyes narrowed. He looked awfully focused all the sudden. Okay, not a joke. What…
“Baz?” Aya’s voice cut over the music, muffled by the door. An icy cold exploded in his chest. Fuck.
He kicked the blanket away and scrambled out of bed, cursing under his breath. He bent forward to reach for his underwear—a dull impact hit his butt.
Sami grinned.
How was this funny? Aya was here! If she saw them—she couldn’t. She’d rip him a new one if she found out he lied to her.
“Don’t move,” Baz hissed and threw the silk robe over his shoulders.
Sami pushed himself up to his elbows. “Ooh, are we still going for a second round?” His voice had the decency to be hushed. That hardly made it better though.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Physically or psychologically?”
“Shh!”
Sami mimicked zipping his lips. His leg hooked over the blanket as he rolled over with a soft sigh, leaving his bare ass perked up and exposed. His antics might be the death of Baz. What a lovely last sight he would make… Focus.
He secured the belt of his robe around his stomach and burst through the door, rushing to close it behind him. His heart pumped out pure nausea.
The bright light of the ceiling lamp was harsh compared to the amber ambience of the bedroom. He squinted at Aya, standing by the living room table in front of a Walgreens bag that had not been there before.
She regarded Baz with a raised eyebrow.
“Hey. What are you doing here? Did you knock?” Baz said. That damn spare key he had given her was strictly for emergencies only, not for unannounced visits.
“Repeatedly. I’ve been calling you for the past hour to see how you’re doing, but you didn’t answer. I reckoned you were asleep.”
Asleep. Definitely. That was a great excuse.
“Oh. Yeah. I must have missed that, because, you know. Why are you here?” And how soon can you leave again?
“You have a migraine, and you’re playing music?”
Shit. Baz hugged himself like he was freezing and leaned against the doorframe, angling his body to hide most of the bedroom door from sight.
“It helps me relax.” That wasn’t technically a lie.
Aya gave him a once-over. Fuck, did he have sex written all over him?
With how much Sami had grabbed his hair…
Baz ran a hand through it to force it into a resemblance of order, hoped the move looked more natural than it felt.
Touching his hair was a nervous habit he had kicked years ago, when he had started styling it with gel for law school.
“You’re looking flushed,” she remarked.
“Uh, yeah. Probably from sleeping.” Please think I have a fever and leave.
Baz sucked his lower lip between his teeth—bad idea. It was still sensitive from Sami’s touch, sending tingles down his body and filling his head with sweet memories he could not afford to think about while dressed only in a robe. “Sorry, why are you here?”
“I figured you weren’t aware enough of your own mortality to have any meds around, so I picked some stuff up for you.”
She was being kind while he was lying to her?
The back of his throat ached with the thickening ball of guilt he failed to swallow.
“Thank you. You seriously didn’t have to.” He didn’t deserve it.
Aya just nodded. Not leaving. Why wasn’t she leaving?
Baz’s leg buzzed with the urge to bounce on the spot. He twirled his wrists, forced his fingers into fists lest they fidgeted. “I should probably get more rest.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing!”
“You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not. I just want—”
Bang. Something hard hit the wooden floors behind the bedroom door.
Baz’s heart broke into a sprint. He cramped up to stop himself from reacting, fighting a losing battle to keep his face neutral. What part of don’t move had been so difficult to understand?!
The hope that Aya had somehow missed it got crushed by her razor-sharp focus on that damn door.
“Is someone in there?”
The no got stuck in his throat, blocked the way for an excuse, for a plea to leave. Aya stomped past him.
“Aya, don’t—”
She pushed the door open to Sami, still in bed, but leaning over the edge, reaching for his phone on the floor. He froze mid-movement, his bare upper body on full display.
Aya’s mouth went slack.
This wasn’t happening.
“Uh. Hi, Aya.” Sami waved awkwardly.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Her voice was darker than Baz had ever heard it.
“I can explain!” The words slipped out before his brain had supplied a reasonable excuse for why the hell Sami Adam was naked in his bed. A million words raced through his mind. None of them wanted to form a sentence.
“Are you here to join, or…?” Sami grinned. Whatever sweet, vulnerable version of him Baz had been holding earlier had vanished without a trace.
“You. Quiet,” Aya demanded.
Sami pressed his lips into a thin line. So he listened to her, but not to Baz?
“And you.” Aya’s glare pierced through him. Baz stood as straight as an arrow. “You better have a good explanation for this.”
He did!
He should.
The more he thought about it, though, the surer he got that Sami is hot and I was lonely didn’t qualify as an excuse.
“Who I sleep with is none of your business,” he said instead and immediately regretted it. Aya didn’t deserve him being a dick.
“It is when you’re fucking Ian’s lapdog!”
The f-bomb out of Aya’s usually untarnished mouth made Baz take a step back. This was worse than he had dreaded.
“What the hell are you thinking? You said—”
“I know what I said.” And Sami didn’t need to hear that Baz had insisted he didn’t like him. Not after today.
“So sorry,” Sami chirped. “Riveting as this is, and I do hate to interrupt, but I am very much naked, and I guess my chances for a second round just plummeted to zero, so.”
The corner of Baz’s mouth twitched. He forced it back into check. This wasn’t funny. If anything, Sami wanting to get dressed was a tragedy, albeit one Baz couldn’t begrudge him.
With a scoff, Aya turned on her heel, leaving an icy gust behind. Shit.
Baz ran his hand down his face. What the hell was he going to say to her?