Page 7 of Styx’s Storm

Biceps muscles flexed under the lightest pressure.

I feathered my fingers across his collarbone to his sternum. There, I laid my hand flat, but didn’t apply much pressure.

He placed his hand over mine.

A moment held suspended in time.

I’d fucked, and been fucked, by plenty of guys over the last eight or so years. I’d been precocious. Pretty much from the moment I could get away with sneaking out of the house and doing it with guys, I’d been down for that. “You okay topping?” I whispered the words because, in the dark, this thing—whatever this was—begged to be treated reverentially.

“Yes.” He slid his hand up my arm—repeating what I’d done—and his fingers lingered on my biceps. “You’re strong.”

“I work out.” Strong was such a relative term. I kept up a level of fitness because stamina on stage was important. But I didn’t haul gear like our roadies did.

Like Carver did on our last gig.

Okay, not cool to think about one guy while I was in another guy’s bed. I leaned into his touch and when he grazed his hand against my cheek, I yearned for more.

His thumb brushed my lower lip. “Kiss.” Said on a whisper.

“Hell, yes.” I leaned toward him—allowing him to guide me. Soon, our lips touched. I had the sensation of softness just before he opened his mouth. Needing no further invitation, I slid my tongue inside.

He ran his tongue along mine.

Then we began a tussle for dominance—each trying to take over the kiss. I was going to yield. Eventually. For now, I wanted to get a sense of how far he’d go. Getting fucked by random dudes could be dangerous. I’d never had a problem, so far, and sometimes that made me reckless.

His chest rumbled as he grasped the back of my neck and dragged me closer.

I went willingly. I laid myself on top of him so our skin touched everywhere.

Everywhere.

Our cocks brushed and a fire lit within me. A spark I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Not since Frank—

Not the right time to think about grief. Stay here and now.

Because Frank would still be dead tomorrow. Baxter would still have abandoned me. Carver would still be gone. I’d still be alone.

But here, now, I could have something for myself.

The guy in the dark ran his hands along my flanks, down my hips, and around to grasp my ass. He pressed up against me. “Want this. Want you.”

I gulped air as need strummed through me. “You’ve got me. How do you want me?”

“Face down.”

Nice. I didn’t really have a preference for positions. Face-to-face had certain advantages—like if I wanted to see the guy’s expressions. Since that wasn’t going to happen here, sticking my ass in the air worked just fine. I rolled off him.

He scooted toward the side of the bed.

Figuring he was grabbing the lube and a condom, I positioned myself so I was bent over and my ass was exposed.

A momentary hesitation overtook me. Is this really safe? I know nothing about him. Not that I’d had the résumé of every guy I’d ever gone to bed with. Far from it. But at least I knew what they looked like.

The mattress dipped as he positioned himself behind me.

“ A fingertip brushed my asshole, pressed in slightly, and I shivered. He murmured, “Prep?”

I chuckled. “Fuck, yeah.” Way more fun than doing it myself.