“Glad you called back. I found a job for you that you do not want to miss.”
“Tell me more.”
Austen gets back on the couch, lying against me like he was before.
“It’s in Paris forDior.”
“Dior?” I shout, jerking up and accidently kneeing Austen, who groans. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack, my friend. I sent them your head shots, and they’re interested.”
“When is it?”
“Next week.”
I glance at Austen, who is grinning like a mad man and nodding his head.
“Sign me up.”
We go over a few more details before ending the call.
“FuckingDior?” Austen says. “That’s the Johnny Depp shit.”
“Ha! I know! This is nuts.”
I shake my head, in disbelief over getting this gig. It’s huge. The biggest one I’ll have done yet. But the thought of doing another shoot brings me back to California and seeing Savannah in that restaurant with that designer. I hate the way it makes my stomach turn and makes me feel like shit. So I do something that always makes me feel better.
I shift on the couch and tug on Austen until he moves up beside me, squishing between me and the back of the couch. I turn to face him, ignoring the TV. I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck and breathe in his scent. And I fall asleep.
I wake up some time later to Austen trying to get out.
“Sorry,” he says softly. “I really have to piss.”
I chuckle, shifting so he can get up. Then I roll onto my stomach and go right back to sleep. But that doesn’t last long, because I’m woken up again, this time by Austen climbing on top of me, rubbing his erection along my ass crack.
“You have such a nice ass, Cam,” he says in my ear before nipping at it.
“So I’ve been told,” I answer smartly.
He shifts his weight and he grips my ass cheek, squeezing tightly. I groan. His hand slides to my hip, putting pressure and holding me in place as he grinds against me. I have to shift to fix my dick, because I’m getting hard and not in a great position.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks.
“Not at all,” I say, loving how he’s using my body for his pleasure.
He nibbles on my ear lobe again, before whispering, “Can I fuck you again?”
“Austen, you can fuck me whenever you want. You don’t have to ask.”
With a growl, he gets up and I hear his feet on the floor. He returns a moment later, tugging my pants down just enough to get them over my ass. He spreads my cheeks, dousing me with lube directly from the bottle. I hiss at how cold it is, but it’s notthat way long. Austen runs his fingers through it and wastes no time shoving a finger inside me, which warms everything up.
“Fuck,” I groan, burying my face in the throw pillow. He strokes against my prostate a few times, and I can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose or not. I don’t know how familiar he is with it.
“Have you ever had anything in your ass, Austen?” I ask.
“No,” he rasps out.
“Not even your fingers?”
