Chapter 12 #2
The girl with the pink hair, Zara, I think Mike said, climbs over the couch, landing on the spot between Ryan and me with a crash. The drummer follows behind her, carrying a pack of beer and a pizza box that he sets down on the coffee table.
“You must be the roommate,” Zara says, looking up at me with sharp eyes and a smile that feels nothing but genuine. “The sexy anonymous one.”
“Alex,” I say, completely unprepared for this.
“I know.” She grins. “Mike talks about you.”
“I do not!” Mike shouts from the kitchen.
“Constantly,” she mouths, with a knowing look. I look at Ryan sitting behind Zara, where the frown from the bar is back on his face.
The drummer flips open the pizza box and grabs a slice. “You want some?” He offers, with his mouth full
“I’m good.”
“You sure? It’s really good.”
“Damon,” Zara says. “He said he’s good.”
“I’m just offering.”
“Let him breathe, geez.” That’s funny, coming from the girl who hasn’t stopped staring at me since they got here.
But even though it’s weird, and these people are a lot, the same way Mike is, I don’t feel the looming dread that I expected to feel with their attention on me.
They’re Mike’s people, and I can tell. They have the same warmth he does. The same openness that he has. They heard Mike get up there and sing that song for me, and they don’t seem to have a single problem with it.
The guitarist with the tattoos comes in from wherever he went, dropping into the armchair in the corner without a word to anyone. He’s got a beer, and that vibe of someone who thinks everyone is beneath them. His eyes land on me once, assessing briefly, before moving on to scowl at Zara.
“Trent’s my ex,” Zara says, nodding toward him. “Kind of an asshole, but a good guitarist. No one likes him, so don’t feel bad.”
“I didn’t say—”
Mike materializes from the kitchen with drinks, ending whatever I was about to say. He’s still wearing the same clothes from the stage. He looks even better up close.
“Hey,” he says, giving me a beer, and then looking over at Ryan. “You want one?” Ryan takes it with a scowl, but Mike doesn’t care. His gaze is already back on me.
I look at the ceiling.
Zara scoots even closer, resting her chin on her hand. “So, tell us about you. You’ve been living with Mikey for months, and we haven’t even met!”
“Yeah… Sorry about that. I’m not great at—” I gesture vaguely.
“People?” She fills in, and I nod in agreement.
“Well, that’s okay.” She tucks her feet up. “I talk enough for both of us. You just sit there and look pretty. I heard you’re good at that.”
She finishes that off with a wink, and I choke on my beer.
Across the room, Damon laughs. Mike, leaning against the wall, has the decency to look slightly apologetic, but I can tell there’s a smile threatening to break through.
Ryan doesn’t say a single word for the rest of the night.
Everyone leaves late in the night, heading out at the same time, while we wave from the porch. Once the front door is shut behind us, I don’t last two seconds.
Mike turns around, mouth open to say something, but I’m already walking him back into it, my hands on either side of his face, kissing him before he can say a thing. He gasps against my mouth, and it turns into a moan when I press closer.
“That song,” I say, pulling back an inch.
“Yeah?”
I kiss him again in response.
He laughs against my mouth, reaching for my zipper.
“Wait. Here?”
“You started it,” he points out, getting my zipper down and sliding his hand into my boxers. His fingers wrap around me, and I have nothing else to say, dropping my forehead to his shoulder. “
Fuck, you’re already dripping,” he groans, stroking me, his grip rough, but too slow at the same time.
I whimper into his shoulder, zero control over anything that comes out of my mouth after being this pent up all night. “Please, I need more.”
He stills.
I lift my head to tell him to keep going, but he’s looking at me with wide eyes, and I almost think I did something wrong. But then he drops to his knees.
He takes me into his mouth right in the entryway, and my head falls back. I don’t try to be quiet. I can’t. When I look back down, he’s watching me with those blue eyes surrounded by black eyeliner, and his hair is falling forward with every movement. His pink lips stretched around me. He looks—
“Fuck,” I breathe out. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He moans, the vibration going through my entire body. It makes my hips shift forward involuntarily.
He pulls back and looks up at me, wrecked even though he’s still dressed. “Fuck my throat.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, pushing my hips into his grip, and shit, I’m already close.
“You won’t,” he says, his brows furrowing. “I want it.” He turns his head, pressing his lips to the inside of my wrist. “If I need a break, I’ll tap your thigh, okay?”
I intend to say no. I can’t risk it. But when he adds a please so quietly, I can only see the word form on his lips, something in me breaks open. “Okay,” I say, gathering his hair, guiding my cock back into his mouth.
I go slow.
Slower than he was probably expecting, but I can’t just— I need to know he’s okay.
I don’t know what I would do if I hurt him the way Jason hurt me.
But he relaxes into it, his shoulders dropping, one hand braced on my thigh and the other working his own cock out of his pants, stroking it in time with my thrusts.
Taking everything I give him with his eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
I stroke his hair back from his face, he opens his eyes and looks up at me, and everything I’ve been holding in comes tumbling out. “You looked so fucking good tonight,” I tell him, grunting with my thrusts. “Every single person in there wanted you, you know that?”
He moans in response, his hand moving faster on his own cock, but still taking mine in his tight throat, swallowing around me in a way that almost makes me tip over the edge every single time.
“But, fuck, that’s okay. Because you’re mine.”
I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore, but that last line sets Mike off. He comes with a full body shudder and a moan I’ll never forget.
I don’t last long after, spilling down his throat while he’s still coming down from it.
Mike pulls back after I’m finished, but he doesn’t go far. Swaying forward, he rests his forehead against my thigh.
“Hey,” I say, running my hand through his hair. “You okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but when he finally looks up, his eyes are wet. Not crying, but close. “I’m fine,” he says, sounding rougher than usual.
But when he smiles, I can tell it’s real.
Still, I search his face for something more, making sure he really is okay after that, but I don’t find anything sad. So I decide to believe him.
“Okay,” I say, and he must take that as the conversation being over because he leans his head back against my thigh and closes his eyes.