“I’d lick the head. Get it good and wet.”
Oz’s breathing got faster.
Jax drew on the visualization skills he used for creating a character’s world, though he’d never used them like this. “I’d put my lips under the rim, suck tight, then work your slit with my tongue, hard and fast.”
“Yeah. How’s it taste?”
“Good.” Jax’s mouth watered. He licked his lips, then his hand. The lube in the nightstand drawer seemed far away. He tasted his own skin and sweat and wished it was Oz. In Jax’s mouth. In his bed. “So good.” He stroked his cock, palmed the head.
“I can hear what you’re doing now.”
“Send a thank-you to your cell phone carrier.” Constantly attuned to how his voice sounded, Jax was surprised at the sexy confidence in that answer. He’d always heard himself as a bit whiny during sex. Always tried to pitch his voice lower.
“So just your tongue on the head?” Oz murmured. “That all you got for me?”
“I’d….” Jax’s mouth started to open. No, he was not going to mime it for the class. He shut his eyes. “I’d pull the skin down. Lick and kiss the shaft to get it wet.”
“Maybe I’ll smack it against your cheek. You like that?”
A blast of turbo to Jax’s already revving engines made his head drop back on the pillow. He liked that a lot. “Yeah.
“Suck it now. Suck it like I’m shoving my fingers up your tight ass.”
It wasn’t particularly out there, but Oz had sure tumbled onto that particular hot spot of Jax’s. He loved giving head with friction in his ass making him a little desperate. Sloppy. Hungry.
“I’ll swallow….” God, he was close already, balls full and tight, dick like marble in his hand. “Take you into my throat.” His body flashed with heat.
“Yeah?” Oz’s voice was a groaned whisper. “You gonna let me all the way in?”
God knew Jax wanted to try. “Yes.”
“Work for it. Go faster.”
Jax should have gotten the computer, should have gotten the lube. He twisted his wrist, sliding his palm up and over on each rapid stroke. He was trying to keep the phone pressed between his chin and shoulder, but any coordination above his hips was getting tricky.
“Oh, damn. You gonna make that sound when I’ve got three fingers in your hole and my dick down your throat?”
“Yeah. Fuck yeah.” If there was some phone sex etiquette in announcing a load arrival, it was too late.
Oz’s breath roared in Jax’s ear.
Hips bucking, muscles spasming, Jax tipped over into that blinding pleasure, pumping hot and slick over his fingers.
“God, that’s good,” he groaned when he could make words again. The phone had slid down on the pillow. Jax nudged it up with his chin.
Oz’s breath was still thick and heavy, and Jax heard the wet, fleshy slap of Oz’s hand on his cock.
Now that Jax had come, sitting alone in the bed with his sticky hand and sheets left him feeling self-conscious without Oz giving cues.
After a deep, shuddering breath, Jax whispered, “I want to taste it. Come in my mouth.”
“You gonna swallow?”
“Yeah.” It got easier playing off Oz’s reaction. “Gimme.”
“Suck it out of me.”
It could have felt silly, but it didn’t. Oz’s hoarse demand made Jax’s balls shift up tight again, forced another grunt from his throat.
“Ah, fuck.”
With only his ears in play, Jax could make out all the little hiccups to Oz’s breath and voice as he came, from the first rasping cry to the nearly noiseless clicks in his throat at the end.
He hadn’t given phone sex much credit before, but that had been hot.
“Mmm.”
That was Jax’s favorite of the sounds Oz made, the resonance almost enough for Jax to touch.
“Wish I could have seen your face, though,” Oz said as his breath quieted.
“Just my face?”
“It’s a pretty one, but no. Not just your face.”
What the hell, he was going to have to change the top sheet anyway. Jax wiped his hand on it and balled it up. “Maybe I’ll download a video chat app.”
“For next time?”
Oz’s question was casual, but with his ears so attuned, Jax heard the weight behind it and the exhale when he answered with a yeah and asked for a recommendation.
It wouldn’t be bad to drop off like this, body sated on sex and food, listening to Oz breathe. But as the sweat cooled, he knew he needed a sheet and blanket.
“I want to just fall asleep, but I’ve got to change the sheet,” he admitted.
“I planned ahead. Had a towel.”
“Well, I didn’t know I was going to get phone sexed when I got into bed.”
“I’ll text ahead next time.” The smile was back in Oz’s words.
“Please do.”
“For someone unprepared, you knocked it out of the park. You’ve got a killer voice for phone sex.”
“Yours is pretty nice too.”
“You start out all smooth. Then you start to hitch and stutter.”
“Stutter?” Jax arched his brow, though there was no one to see his reaction. He should watch that stress on his skin. He was already playing young dads. Moisturizing could only help so much.
“It’s sexy as fuck.”
“Okay. I’ll take it, then.”
Orgasms were a long way behind them, but Oz didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to get off the phone. Neither was Jax.
“Do you like California?” Oz asked.
“Yeah. I grew up there. Near LA.”
“I’ve lived in Queens all my life.” Oz laughed. “Except for a few business trips, I’ve never been farther than Newark.”
Oz’s voice was low, but not a whisper. He wouldn’t have been able to sneak away for phone sex if he had a wife in bed, right? It was almost midnight.
I’d ask him.
Easy for Dane to say.
Yeah, Jax could ask, or he could have this thing that seemed to exist outside everything else in his life. Something that was just about him and Oz.
Or maybe he was a selfish bastard and he liked that Oz had to keep Jax a secret. Because then Oz would never want to go on a date or move in or any of the other things an I-don’t-talk-about-my-private-life formerly famous child actor with aspirations of a movie career couldn’t do and stay reasonably closeted.
Christ. Jax hated when Dane made him think too hard. Rebel child, rakish uncle. Fucker.
Oz yawned, triggering one from Jax. It startled him. He could usually control that response better. Needed to on set.
Jax tried to snag the blanket with his foot. “I guess I should let you get off.”
“Ha,” Oz said. “Hey, Jax. After you download the video chat app, maybe you’ll want to invest in a waterproof case.”
Chapter 7
IT WAS the Friday before Halloween, and Oz had everything perfectly under control. One box of preschool-sanctified, verified cupcakes. One sixty-four-ounce bottle of white grape juice for the second-grade party. The two most adorable children on the planet, fully attired in makeup, wigs, and costumes. Lunches, backpacks, coats, shoes. All ready to load up at 7:15 a.m.
Oz felt like he could have gotten more sleep if he’d been coordinating a Delta Force raid.
Then he felt like a commander who’d just deployed his troops onto an IED when the side door opened and Joaquín came in.
Regan spun back out of the coat sleeve he’d managed to wrestle onto her and ran to meet him. “Papi, look at me. I’m a fairy.”
Joaquín met Oz’s eyes over her head, and the corner of those full lips smirked. Fairy? Joaquín mouthed with a flutter of his eyelashes. An involuntary chuckle made Oz forget how pissed he was at Joaquín for walking in here like it was still his address.
“I have wings, but I can’t put them on until school. They’re in the car.”
“Te ves bella, mi niña. Hmm. Did Daddy do your m
akeup?”
Oz glared.
“Let Papi see what he can do here.” Joaquín knelt in front of her as Ayla came running from the bathroom, cape over one arm. He reared back in dramatic shock. “¿Quién eres tú? Where’s Ayla?”
Ayla giggled under her white wig. “It’s me, Papi. I’m Storm. From the X-Men. She makes lightning with her fingers.” She held them out.
Let Joaquín find a problem with the press-on silver nails. Oz’s sister, Angela, had done them.
“Can you help me with my cape, Papi?” Ayla handed it to Joaquín.
Regan turned back toward Oz, one hand on her hip, signifying, as his sister would say. “I told you I needed more sparkles on me, Daddy.”
Oz looked at his watch. “We don’t want to be late for school. Can you wait for me in the car, please?”
Ayla drooped. She was old enough to know what Oz’s request really meant. He wanted her to be the proud little girl who’d rushed into the kitchen a few seconds ago. She took the cape back and grabbed Regan’s hand. At the side door she turned back. “Which car?”
“Mine, honey.” Oz hoped Joaquín wasn’t about to contradict him. “It would be great if the fairy and Storm could fly to school, but I heard with the Halloween traffic of witches and ghosts flying around, it’s better to drive.”
Ayla shot him a far-too-adult look of exasperation over her shoulder as she led her sister out.
“They don’t have coats on,” Joaquín said.
“I’ll bring them out to the car. What’s up?”
Joaquín unzipped the quilted parka he was wearing over nylon gym pants, revealing his tank top. Even at an acceptable ex-husband distance, Oz could smell his skin, the sweat clinging to the freshly pumped-up chest.
“Seriously?” he asked.
Joaquín gave him an adorably still-baby-faced-at-thirty grin. “Estoy que me quemo.”
Yeah, Joaquín was burning hot all right. And he fucking knew it. Oz wished he could say he hadn’t fallen into the trap of ex-sex when they’d first split up. Maybe the text he’d gotten last night—Midnight EST. Got something to show you.—made it easy to resist what Joaquín was so obviously offering.
“What do you want?” Oz said.
Joaquín helped himself to a glass of orange juice. “It’s my weekend. Plus the holiday.”
Oz had listened to Hal, who’d been through it early on with his ex-wife before getting full custody. Lawyer up and get everything in writing. Two weekends a month, spring vacation, a week in summer and split time on holidays, though he hadn’t considered Halloween part of it when they’d set up the visitation policy for holidays.
After Christmas last year, Joaquín hadn’t always shown for his weekends, had them all of two days of spring break, and had been out of town most of the summer and fall.
“You don’t always show up. It’d be easier if you’d call ahead.”
“Work. Training los riquitos doesn’t leave me free time. Sometimes I have to travel. Tú sabes eso. Everything can’t be about las reglas de Oz.”
Oz not only knew it, he’d lived it. But then Joaquín got a job with the Brooklyn Cyclones as a weight trainer, and things settled down for a while. The girls had loved going to the stadium, even if just for the face painting.
Back teeth clenched, Oz gritted out, “You can pick them up after school. Will you need my car seats again?”
Joaquín gave him the look that suggested Oz was the one not dealing with reality.
“Of course you do. What are your plans?”
“In writing? Should I call a lawyer?”
Seduction mode was over. Joaquín had gone into pouty-brat mode. Sometimes Oz thought Ayla had more emotional maturity.
“Can you just tell me without the drama?”
Joaquín answered in his flattest, unaccented voice, “Party. Halloween. Children. Fun. You remember fun?”
Oz also remembered when having three children to raise—one of them approaching thirty—had stopped being fun. “Who’s having the party?”
“Someone from the gym. I will watch what nuestra bebé eats.”
The one thing Oz had never doubted was that Joaquín loved the girls. He couldn’t be bothered with the hard parts, like sleepless nights and toilet training and tantrums, but he adored them. Still, there was a reason there was a curfew for teens on what Oz had called Hell Night when he was that age, and all the love in the world couldn’t always protect them.
“Just be careful. What should I pack for them?”
“Ah—I’ll bring them back. No room where I’m staying.”
Too bad emotions didn’t come with an off switch. Oz felt the familiar surge of concern. But one look at the hopeful raise of Joaquín’s brows rewired it to frustration. Was he angling for a spot on the couch or back in Oz’s bed?
That wasn’t happening. But the girls missed him. And it would be easier if Regan got used to him being around again.
“I’d planned to take them trick-or-treating in my mother’s neighborhood. You can join us.”
“No.” Joaquín raised his hands in surrender. “The way she looks at me—I don’t need that kind of scare for Halloween.” But he was grinning.
“Moms always saw right through you. I should have listened.”
“Yeah. Maybe you should have.” Joaquín finished the orange juice and put the glass in the sink. Which was unsurprisingly next to the dishwasher. “I’ll be back by four.”
WHEN JOAQUÍN had picked up the girls, he’d said the party might run late. Oz had asked for clarification on that, but Joaquín had just shrugged. Infuriatingly.
Despite having the volume on his phone all the way up, Oz started checking for a missed text every five minutes after the timer went off at eight. He cleaned the shelves in the fridge and did another three loads of laundry.
He’d been looking forward to later, to Jax, but now Oz doubted he’d be in any kind of shape to enjoy the phone sex or even those few minutes where he got to be himself and not Superdad. If he wasn’t too exhausted by then to get it up, he’d be in the hospital with a Joaquín-shrug-induced stroke. Blood pounded ominously in Oz’s temples, and he tried a couple deep breaths for relaxation. His dad had dropped from a stroke at seventy.
At 9:26 p.m. he was staring down at his phone—whether he was going to text Jax or call Joaquín, he didn’t know—but the merengue beat of Joaquín’s ringtone started so suddenly, Oz fumbled the phone to the floor before he could answer it.
“Don’t have a heart attack, okay? I’m on the expressway, the LIE, in the traffic. Everything is fine.”
Oz found himself looking heavenward for patience. He was turning into his own grandmother. “How far out?”
In the hmmed pause that followed, Oz pictured Joaquín peering at road signs.
“I just passed Medford.”
Oz bit his tongue. Had he taken them to the fucking Hamptons?
“They’re asleep, so it’s almost like home in bed.”
“Not really.” Bitten tongue or not, Oz couldn’t stop that comment, even though he was past done fighting with Joaquín about… everything. Right now he only wanted the girls safe upstairs and Jax on the phone for those few minutes of escape.
“It is what it is.”
Thank you so much whoever had added that bit of useless philosophy to Joaquín’s worldview.
“Traffic is very bad. See you when I see you.” Which was a great follow-up, but at least that one had always been part of Joaquín’s stock of phrases.
Just after eleven, lights cut through the kitchen as Joaquín pulled into the driveway. Oz was out there before Joaquín turned off the car.
He climbed out, shaking his head. “If you go check their pulses, you’ll wake them up.”
Oz stared into the backseat. Regan clutched her fairy wings, and Ayla’s wig had fallen to one side. Every time he thought he couldn’t love or miss them more, his heart opened wider. So what if it took all he had? He could be Superdad for them.
He and Joaquín
moved together, synchronicity coming back like a familiar dance. Joaquín unbuckled Ayla while Oz scooped up Regan. They carried them upstairs and into their rooms. As he tucked Regan into bed, he saw that most of the glitter was gone from her face and hair, but Oz wiped gently at the area around her eyes to be sure.
They opened, blinking at him. “Daddy, there was a gate like a princess place. And stones for the road.”
“Sounds pretty. Did you have fun?”
Her eyes closed again. He kissed her forehead.
“Uh-huh” came out with a happy sigh, and she flopped onto her side.
He went in to kiss Ayla good night.
Joaquín leaned near the doorjamb, not blocking the space but filling it enough that Oz had to turn sideways and brush past him on his way into Ayla’s room.
She was an active sleeper, and in just those few minutes she had battled the sheets and blankets into a tangle. Oz separated her limbs from the twisted sheet and floated the covers down over her before kissing her forehead.
“Todo el mundo en esa fiesta quedó encantado con ellas.”
Of course. Who wouldn’t love his beautiful girls?
“Where was the party?”
Joaquín’s gaze shifted back into the room, to where Ayla had kicked the blankets off her feet. “Southampton.”
Almost two hours away. Oz sucked in his breath and the bright shock of anger, stuffing it down. Joaquín always got more evasive when Oz got pissed. “Long way to go for a party.”
“Ayla and Regan liked it.”
Oz had burned through a lifetime of jealousy with Joaquín already. He didn’t care what—or who—he was doing now, as long as it didn’t affect the girls. Rationally, Oz knew there was probably nothing to complain about in a Southampton house that had a castle-style gate and paving-stone drive, but hanging on to reason wasn’t completely possible, especially with Joaquín.
“What was so special about it?” Oz asked.
Joaquín had the kind of face that always looked ready to laugh, sparkling brown eyes, round cheeks, boyish dimples, and a smile that could make the sun brighter. Right then it hardened in a way Oz had never seen.
“Los riquitos. People who pay good to stay hot, and maybe I don’t have to live with my primo.”
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