Gray swung Jameson to the side, and with a yelp and a laugh, they fell to the mattress. Their legs tangled as Gray tumbled Jameson onto his back, then hovered above him, placing kisses that tingled Jameson’s neck.
“Oh god,” Jameson moaned, hooking his leg behind Gray’s. He was stiff and throbbing in his jeans, and he started to writhe, desperate to feel release.
Gray kept kissing at Jameson’s neck, his hands roaming up beneath his shirt, searching. “The way you smell,” he whispered. “Like citrus and grass.”
Jameson giggled. “Is that good?”
“It’s fucking fantastic,” Gray answered, then licked his tongue up Jameson’s neck.
“Oh god,” Jameson whimpered. He kept humping himself against Gray’s hard body. All his self-control and discipline disappeared, leaving him ravenous and greedy. “I want to taste you,” he begged, grabbing Gray’s fingers and pulling at them. “In my mouth.”
A loud beep pierced through the air, and Gray shot up to attention. “Sorry, beautiful,” he whispered, trailing his hand across Jameson’s body as he turned away. Every one of Jameson’s nerves was lit, and the gesture nearly sent him tumbling over the edge, electric desire surging through his bones, then flickering out painfully at the end of Gray’s touch.
Gray grabbed his phone from the side table, then silenced the alarm. He frowned down at it for a second. “Fuck.”
“Is something wrong?” Jameson asked. His voice trembled like it might fall apart.
“The alarm system. Something triggered it in the back.”
Jameson cast his eyes to the bedroom window, the curtains securely drawn shut. “Does that mean there’s someone on the property?”
“Maybe,” Gray answered. He adjusted the crotch of his jeans, and Jameson felt another pang of desire when he noticed the thick, hard outline of his cock. “Where’s Pickles at?”
Jameson pulled himself up on his elbows. “Probably still watching TV in the downstairs den.”
Gray paused for a second, then shot his eyes back to Jameson. “Watching TV?”
“There’s a marathon of the lastProject Runwayseason today. She lovesProject Runway.”
Gray scratched the back of his head, half his mouth pulled up in a grin. “Okay, no help from Pickles, then.” He crossed over to the window, then peeked out between the curtains. A second later, he jumped back. “Fuck!”
“What?” Jameson tensed, finally pulling himself out of his horny fog. “Is something going on?”
“In the bushes,” Gray said. “I can’t see more.” He turned to hold Jameson’s eye. “Wait here, okay? I’ll take care of it.”
Jameson nodded quickly, and Gray was out the door. He rubbed his hands over his face as he let out a long breath. Even if someone were on the property again, he knew that Gray would intercept that person before any damage was done. Jameson reminded himself that he was safe, and the thing that was happening between him and Gray was private, theirs and theirs alone, but pangs of anxiety still threatened him.
He crawled out of bed, then crossed over to the window. Slowly, he pulled the curtains open. A gray light filled the yard between his house and the guest house, and it took him a moment to adjust his eyes. Once he did, though, he spotted the person, creeping out of the bushes alongside the pond and inching toward the house.
“Damn it,” Jameson cursed, tears biting at the corners of his eyes. Of course there would be an interruption, something to burst the bubble he and Gray created together.
And then Gray came leaping down the steps from the back porch, and Jameson couldn’t help but blurt out a laugh. He was carrying a large blanket, apparently swiped from the couch, and it flapped in the air while he charged forward, taking the man by surprise.
Jameson couldn’t hear anything, but he could see the photographer’s confused, startled gesture as Gray plowed ahead, then tackled him to the ground with the blanket. The photographer struggled to get free, but Gray held his weight on top, pinning the man beneath the heavy fabric.
A giggle erupted out of Jameson as he watched Gray, yelling at the man and pointing down at him and, just a couple times, slapping him lightly across the face, too. He grabbed the bottom of the window and yanked it up just enough that he could hear outside, the cold air rushing down to his feet.
“You know, only losers work for tabloids!” Gray yelled. “All the cool photographers know that. It’s true! Everyone knows you’re rude and selfish!” The wind rushed by, garbling his words again, while Gray shoved his finger in the man’s face a few more times. When the wind passed, his voice picked back up. “And tell all your friends to stop wasting their fucking time. There’s new security here, and you’re not getting the fuck inside anymore.”
Gray jumped backward, tugging the blanket with him. As the photographer started to scramble away, he reached out and pulled something off his shoulder. “Have a good fucking night!” he yelled after the man. He lifted the object he grabbed, like he was going to throw it to the stone path, then stopped himself and slung it over his shoulder instead.
Jameson slid the window shut, then leaned backward against the wall. He felt dizzy, and a wide grin ate up his face.
What Gray did wasn’t really the smartest idea, but Jameson didn’t even care. No matter what happened between the two of them, he was always going to have that image of Gray, slapping the most annoying paparazzi photographer and telling him all the things Jameson wished he could say.
My hero, he thought to himself, his laugh bouncing up.
There was a soft knock on the door; then Gray stepped through. He held his phone up, a video feed playing. “He’s just over the fence now,” he said. “All clear. I already texted Declan to rush the order for the new fencing top, too.”
