Rick grabbed both of Allen’s hands and moved them above his head, holding them down. Allen’s eyes widened as Rick stared at him, his body thrusting into Allen’s. He tried to move his hands, but Rick’s grip tightened, and he whispered Rick’s name.
“Good?”
Allen arched again, his body burning up. He nodded, then gasped when Rick changed angles and tagged his prostate. “Don’t stop,” he grunted, lifting his legs to wrap them around Rick’s waist.
Rick tightened his hold on Allen, and Allen groaned. He’d never had someone hold his hands down before, and he found he liked it. More than liked it. Rick groaned and kissed him, and Allen returned it, his body moving in time with Rick’s.
Feeling his orgasm growing, Allen murmured, “Close.”
“Stroke your dick, Allen. I want to feel you come.”
Allen whimpered and pushed a hand between their bodies, grabbing his hard cock and stroking it. His balls pulled up, and he moaned loudly as his orgasm exploded over him. He cried out, his body shaking. Rick groaned and slammed into Allen, his body shuddering above Allen’s.
Letting his legs fall to the bed, Allen panted, and when Rick let go of Allen's hand, he ran both of them down Rick’s damp back. Rick kissed Allen’s cheek, then murmured his name.
After a minute or so, Rick carefully pulled out and walked into the bathroom, then returned with a cloth and helped to clean Allen. Once he’d finished, he got back into bed and pulled Allen close.
Allen lay with, his head on Rick’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and sighed softly. “I’m glad you came over.”
Rick squeezed him, then murmured, “So am I.”
Chapter Thirteen
Waking up, Rick checked his phone before he even sat up in bed. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but he checked anyway. The headline was still there, on the entertainment sites that had first published it as breaking news. Backing vocalist found dead in hotel room. Police investigating. Rick opened it and scrolled.
Opening the article, Rick scrolled past the filler about Cass’ background. He knew most, if not all of it, so he didn’t need to read it. The article included a timeline that didn’t say much. A quote from a spokesperson and a brief sentence about the tour still going ahead. Then he saw the part that mattered.
CCTV captured an unclear image of a person entering and leaving the floor around the estimated time of death.
Rick stared at the words for a moment, then scrolled down to see if there was a photo. There was, but it wasn’t a face. It was ashape in a hood, head down, nothing clear enough to grab onto. Smiling, Rick kept reading.
No arrests have been made. No suspects have been named. Police have not confirmed a cause of death.Another paragraph later, a line about evidence.No DNA match at this time.
Putting the phone down on the mattress beside him, Rick sat there for a moment, listening to the quiet in his apartment. He picked the phone back up and read the same lines again, slower this time, then closed the article.
It was working. That was the part he couldn’t stop thinking about.
Rick lay in bed longer than he needed to, phone in his hand, staring at nothing. He hadn’t planned to go to Allen that night. He’d told himself he’d go home and sleep. Instead, he’d ended up outside Allen’s building, and Allen had opened the door and let him in.
That part still kept replaying in Rick’s head. The way Allen hadn’t backed up. The way he’d kissed Rick like he wanted it. The way he’d made those sounds when Rick pushed him against the wall. The way he’d clung instead of pulling away. He hadn’t expected Allen to like it.
Rick closed his eyes and replayed what had happened. Allen’s hands on his shoulders. Allen’s breath catching when Rick took control. The way Allen had gone quiet in that split second before he gave in.
He’d wanted it.
Rick’s mouth tightened. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. It made him feel like he could take what he wanted and still be wanted back.
Picking up his phone, Rick scrolled through his messages with Allen. Allen’s replies were quick when he could, slower when he was at work.
Rick stared at the last message and typed.You survive today?
He watched the screen until the reply came in.Barely. People are insane.
Rick’s mouth twitched, and he typed back.Any standouts?
The typing bubble appeared, then stopped, then appeared again.One guy yelled because his delivery was late. Like I’m driving the truck.
Rick leaned back against the headboard. He could picture Allen saying it, being professional when he really wanted to tell the customer to fuck off. Smiling, Rick typed a message and sent it.You eat?
