Mike nodded, too in awe to form words.
“Later. Let’s get you settled in.” Killian steered him away from the piano with a firm hand to the back.
That hand, that warm hand that flew like lightning over a guitar’s strings, trailed over Mike’s skin, playing him with as much skill. He sighed when Killian released him to open a door.
Mike followed Killian through a game room, back out into the vast entryway and up the acrylic stairs, which gave an illusion of walking on air, save for the chrome supports.
Killian stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced left. “Those’re Elliot’s rooms. I left them like they were.” He resumed his trek to the right and dramatically flung open a pair of double doors and turned to face Mike. “My rooms. Ours if you want. I have guestrooms if you’d rather, and even a guest house out back. My offer to make you a part of the band doesn’t have any strings attached.”
Killian stood a few feet inside the door, uncharacteristic uncertainty on his face.
Mike stepped into the room and closed the doors.
He so wanted those strings.
26
What a fucking mistake! Why had Killy thought coming back a good idea?
The answer wrapped arms around his neck and joined their mouths. How had Killy not wanted to kiss this man the moment they’d met?
Tongue to tongue, body to body. Mike made such a wonderful armful. No matter what storm raged around him, nothing got past the safety of Mike’s embrace.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d deal with the rest of the world. Tonight, he’d lose himself in the skin to skin, slick slide of two men together.
He’d show his cowboy a thousand times over that, no matter what anyone said, they belonged together. The thought of Mike running away, leaving Killy alone once more, caused his heart to pound and his breath to catch.
Too long. He’d been alone too long. And had he ever been with someone who wanted just him, not the rock star him, but Killian the man?
The too-fucking-big bed, the one he’d never brought another man to, awaited. Shuffling backwards, never breaking the kiss, he stopped when his calves connected with the mattress.
He ran his hands underneath Mike’s shirt, caressing the curly hair over firm pecs, breathing in the scent of the handsome Texas boy in his arms.
He ran his tongue up the side of Mike’s neck, tasting salt and skin. Lightly biting where Mike’s shoulder met his neck, he reveled in the moan vibrating in Mike’s throat.
Up, up, up, he lifted Mike’s shirt and stepped back long enough to pull the garment over his head and discard it in a heap on the floor. Killy’s own joined the pile a moment later.
Mike ran tentative fingers over Killy’s chest, across his scars, and lower, opening Killy’s jeans and running a sure hand inside. Through a thin layer of cotton, he stroked. Oh, damn. Killy tilted his head back, closing his eyes and losing himself in the sensation of the hand rubbing up and down his hard shaft, creating a trail of delicious friction.
In the past, sex meant a furious mix of hands, mouths, and cocks, a good hard fuck, and then pulling his pants up and getting on with his life.
Allowing himself a few selfish moments, he remained passive, soaking up the attention, the slow burn of things to come. But he couldn’t be selfish. No, not anymore.
He sank to his knees, pausing long enough to unfasten Mike’s jeans and mouth the firm mound pressing out the front of cotton boxers. The warm musk of male and pre-cum filled his senses, making him hard to the point of pain.
Slipping down the boxers’ elastic, he swiped his tongue over the tip of Mike’s cock, then opened his mouth and sank down, taking the firm length inside. More often than not he’d been on the receiving end of a blowjob. How had he forgotten the sheer joy of tasting, bringing pleasured moans and playing another’s body like a finely-tuned instrument?
He rolled Mike’s balls in one hand, running the other over Mike’s stomach, feeling the flexing of muscles beneath his fingers.
Mike whispered, “Oh, my God!” and “yeah, like that,” along with some sounds that might or might not have been words.
Music, every single note.
Mike grabbed Killian under the arms and hauled him up, urging him onto the mattress with a firm hand to the chest.
Killian lay back, kicking off his jeans, underwear, shoes and socks. Naked. Spread out on his bed.
And likely not a fucking condom for miles. At least, not in his nightstand.
