“Actually, yes,” says Cam. “I do want you to pretend that. Can you please not ask me one fucking question about my lyrics or my tour or my personal life or anything? Because I’m so over it.”
Matt laughs. “You got yourself a deal.”
Cam shakes his hand. Upon their skin’s connection, a burst of energy whooshes through Cam’s body, protracting his breath for a moment, warming his skin and compressing his vision.
“Did you feel that?!”
“Feel what?” asks Matt.
Cam is quiet for a moment. “Nothing,” he says, side-eyeing the man. There’s no way he didn’t feel that.. Muscle tension? Electric current?
“Hey you know who lives here?” asks Matt.
Cam has no idea; no name floats to his mind. Every night these anonymous parties happen all over L.A. Cam’s just goes for the free alcohol and girls to hook-up with if he’s feeling lonely.
“I figured you didn’t,” says Matt playfully.
“Why?”
Matt laughs, standing up. “Cause it’s my place,” he says, side-eyeing Matt right back.
“Common. I wanna show you something.”
First, they make a pit-stop at Matt’s ground-floor bar. Matt secures a bottle of Patron and a fifth of Whiskey, no glasses. He claps the mixologist on the shoulder, pulling him in for a one-armed hug. Cam assumes they’re friends; the bartender must work parties here a lot. He watches Matt put a sizable wad of cash in the man’s pocket.
The main floor of Matt Zaal’s house is shaped like a racetrack, and Matt leads Cam the long way around the track to avoid the wandering eyes of partygoers. They go upstairs, walk down another hallway, up another flight of stairs.
“Am I allowed to ask what you do?” Cam says.
Matt stops and turns to face Cam. “Of course you can,” he says. “I’m a producer. Movies. Nothin’ animated, no action. Dramas. Been in the business about ten years. Have done pretty well for myself already.” He raises his arms and looks at the bare, steel walls. They are loitering in some kind of closed-in vestibule. Cam thinks they must be near the top of Matt’s formidable Malibu pad. “I been in a lot of different trades,” he says. “To be honest, I’m quite adept at making money.”
Cam’s never heard anyone speak like him before. Matt Zaal doesn’t sound like all the usual Californian egotists who draw out their syllables, who always sound like they don’t give two shits about a hair on your head. His voice is out of an ancient epic, a knight’s voice in 1592 as he charms some royal court or personage. The pitch of his voice stings like a clear bell, hulking, deep, sonorous and powerful. Forceful even. Cam feels his core drawn to Matt Zaal’s voice.
“Am I allowed to ask what you do? He asks. Cam smirks. “Since I have no idea who you are?” Matt shoots him a wicked smile.
“I live on Skid Row,” says Cam. “Wandered up to Malibu tonight, snuck into your house behind somebody. I was gonna try to take a secret shower, but every bathroom was occupied by all the typical cokeheads. What’s a guy to do?”
Now it’s Matt’s turn to smirk. He pushes through the vestibule’s causeway, leading the way. Cam was right; they are on Matt’s roof. Los Angeles’ skyline twinkles in the distance. Matt stretches out his arms, bottles in either hand.
“Nothin’ like it,” he says. Cam couldn’t argue with that. He loves Los Angeles: the palmettos that line the streets, the food, the architecture. The Getty (L.A.’s renowned art museum), although he can’t go during regular visiting hours because the likely mobs of people could cause damage to the exhibitions. Getty’s management politely asked him not to come during the day, but emphasized that they are very accommodating to celebrities and anytime Cam wanted, they would set up after-hours showings. This incident really made Cameron Leto feel like he didn’t own his life, that his soul is chopped up in an infinite amount of pieces and millions of people own a sliver or microscopic chunk of him.
“Hey gimme a drink,” Cam says. “The whiskey.”
Matt throws the bottle to Cam, who tosses back an impressive chug, the back of his throat on fire. Matt matches Cameron with the Patron, tipping the liquor back. They wander over to the edge and sit down, dangling their feet over the ridged roof’s end.
And they talk. They talk about their favorite movies, foods and cafes. Cam mentions Seree’s and for twenty minutes they talk about coffee. Cam finds out Matt is addicted, too, which makes sense because Cam instinctively dislikes people who don’t drink coffee. They discuss books, Harry Potter, some celebrity gossip (Beyonce’s Lemonade video on HBO) but not much. They talk about politics and the economy and Los Angeles’ mayor. Cam never gets to talk about this kind of stuff. The people he runs with in L.A. scorn the news and look down on people who are informed. Just because Cam thought high school was dumb doesn’t mean he neglects the cultivation of his intelligence or doesn’t keep up with current events.
Matt Zaal never once asks Cam about his career, the girls he’s dated, Cam’s private events or about other artists in the industry.
Of course, Cam’s phone won’t stop buzzing. At first he just ignores it as Matt talks about his favorite men’s fashion and shoe brands (they both hate Gucci, love Versace, admire Balmain), but soon the buzzing becomes unignorable. Cam stands up, removes his iPhone from his front jeans pockets, and checks it quickly.
“Your friends are probably looking for you,” says Matt.
Cam laughs. “My friends,” he says. “Yeah right. None of those people I was here with are my friends, dude. They don’t care where I am in terms of like, safety. They care about where I am in terms of their own egomania.”
Matt ponders Cam’s admonition. “My real friends are in Nebraska,” Cam says.
“Do they come and visit a lot?” Matt asks.
Cam takes another swig of the whiskey. He looks at his feet.
“No they don’t,” Cam says. “They haven’t been a fan of my... antics the past year or two.”
Matt’s quiet for a second. “So you’re saying you feel closer to them then your friends in L.A.?”
“Yeah I do.”
“Why don’t you call them up?”
“It ain’t that easy,” Cam says.
Silence.
Matt stands up. “Maybe they’re waiting for you to call?” He flashes a little smile, rubbing his boot across the roof panels.
Cam feels a strange and inexplicable attraction to Matt. It feels foreign, and not because Matt Zaal’s a man. If Cam’s honest, it feels other-worldly. Cam admits that he’s found men attractive before, but it’s not like he ever acted on the impulse. Kaleidoscope Records, his agent, everyone in the industry told him in so many words that he wouldn’t sell any records if he came out or said he was bisexual or something like that. He was disgusted by this toxic and homophobic hidden Hollywood agenda, although Cameron Leto never thought he’d actually act on his attraction. He figured he was just another victim of the spectrum, in constant fluctuation.
But for the first time Cam wants to act on the impulse. As the first spikes of dawn’s tangerine light sprinkles over L.A.’s horizon, Cam feels the urge to touch Matt’s lips. He’s drunk as a skunk, but something beyond his intoxication and the producer’s bulging chest is magnetizing Cam to Matt Zaal.
“Maybe they are,” Cam says. “Maybe they are waiting for me to call.”
He turns away from Matt, drinks a little more whiskey. Matt’s quiet.
“Everyone here is fucking fake,” Cam says, flailing his arms, launching into a rant, spilling a little. “I don’t wanna whine. I don’t wanna you to think I’m a bitch, because I think Los Angeles and the Hills is fucking beautiful. But nobody’s real.” Cam walks backwards, tilting the bottle. “You ever feel that way? You ever sense that? There ain’t one authentic per–”
But Cam’s next question lodges in his throat. His foot never connected with the solid roof but misstepped over the edge. For a stunned moment, Cam and Matt just look at each other, positively electrified and bewildered, and th
en Cameron Leto starts falling. It’s only four stories: not too far, just enough to kill you or put you in a wheelchair the rest of your life. Cam tries to scream, but nothing comes out. He looks up at Matt looking down at Cameron falling, falling, falling–
Then Matt jumps off the roof. Cam locks his legs to his chest, preparing for impact. He screams upwards, “NO!!” at Matt’s diving frame. Then, mid-air, Matt Zaal instantaneously transforms into a dragon with ruby-colored scales. In a single, powerful pump of his wings, Matt the dragon bursts forward and rolls under Cam right before his body reached the concrete walkway. With two more wings pumps the dragon and Cam are back above the roof, and Matt the dragon lays Cam near the vestibule.
That’s when Cameron Leto blacks out.
Cam wakes up in his bed. The drapes are open. He looks at the clock. 5:52p.m.
Matt Zaal walks into his bedroom.
“What the fuck?!” Cam screams. “How did you get in my house?!”
“I brought you back.. After last night.”
Last night…?
Then, like an avalanche, the blurry events of the producer’s house in Malibu trample and overrun his mind. The party... Kara... Talking with Matt... The roof… Cam fell and–
“Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you?!” Cam jumps off his bed, moving away from Matt.
“Let me explain. Please,” he says. “Come over here. Sit down.”
Cam doesn’t move. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” Matt says. “Cameron, if I wanted to hurt you in any way, shape or form then why did I bring you back to your house? Why didn’t I keep your unconscious body at my place in Malibu? Why did I put you in your own bed?”
Cam says nothing. He doesn’t have an answer.
“How did we get here?” Cam asks.
“We flew. Sit down, Cam. Five minutes. Just gimme five minutes to explain.”
Cam paces across his bedroom to his bed. He sits down a few feet away from Matt Zaal.
“No human knows about me,” Matt says. “But I couldn’t just let you die. When I had, or rather, when I have the power to keep you around.”
Cam’s quiet.
“Cameron, don’t freak out, okay? But I’m a shifter,” he says, standing up, pacing the room. “I shift into like, a burgundy-colored dragon. My real name is Laramie Ok’Ron. I was born in the Dolomites mountain range in northeastern Italy. My bloodline goes back several millennia. My grandfather still rules over the dragon shifters in the heart of the Dolomites.”
Cam is shaking. He wants to scream.
“I don’t believe you...” he says. “I don’t know what I saw last night... I don’t know what happened… I was falling and.. And now I’m here. At home.” Matt tries to move closer to Cam. “I don’t know what happened, Matt. But there’s no such thing as fucking dragons,” Cam says.
Matt walks into the center of Cameron Leto’s sprawling bedroom and transforms again into dragon with ruby-colored scales. Matt the dragon’s massive body just fits in Cam’s bedroom; if Matt ducks his head and curves his tail. Smoke filters out of Matt the dragon’s nostrils. His claws are as long and thick as Cam’s leg. His eyes are a deep, wise, tranquil hazel and Cameron finds he wants to swim in Matt’s dragon eyes. Matt quickly morphs back to his human form.
“There you go,” he says. “Don’t make me do it again.”
Cam’s speechless. Matt continues.
“We are a dying species,” he explains. “There are only a few thousand dragon shifters left. My grandfather protects who’s left, bulwarking the remnants of our people scattered throughout the world. Many shifters make their way in the human’s world, but a significant minority stay in the Dolomites as well.”
Cam still can’t talk.
“Many of us find great success in the human world, too. Elon Musk is a shifter. Whoopi Goldberg. Rahm Emanuel. Since we live longer than everyone else, we’re a lot smarter. Shifters understand how to make certain sectors and industries work in our favor.”
“So how old are you then. . ?” Cam asks, his voice quivering.
“I was born in 1771. Just five years before the United States was formed.”
This all too much for Cameron Leto. He stares at the wall.
“Cam, listen to me. Try not to freak out.” Matt races over to him because Cam’s legs are like Jell-o and his balance is teetering; he’s about to fall over. Matt catches him, picks up Cam’s achy body and lies him down on the bed. Matt adjusts Cam’s pillow. He sits down on the bed’s edge again. Cam blinks up at him.
“I feel like this goes without saying,” Matt says. “But you can’t tell anyone. My grandfather’s wrath would be… Well, it wouldn’t be good. Let’s just say that. But I’m also telling you, Cam, because I sense I can trust you. Because... I sense something.”
“You felt that... That shock when our hands touched didn’t you?” asks Cam in a quiet voice.
“Yes I did. I’m not sure exactly what it means, but I have some guesses...”
Matt puts his hand on Cam’s knee. He looks past his Cam’s eyes, piercing his brain. “Can I trust you Cameron? Will you not tell anyone?”
For a long minute Cam stares up at Matt Zaal. Or Laramie. He stares at Laramie. Is it all that crazy sub-human species live among plain old non-shifting human beings? Cam wonders how many categories of shifters there are. Are there unicorns, too? Elves? Now that Cam knows dragons are real, do fairies or mermaids really seem that wild? Cam wonders if all the mythical monsters in human stories actually exist.
Laramie hasn’t moved his hand; it rests on Cam’s bare kneecap. Cam’s in just his underwear. Laramie must’ve undressed him before tucking him into bed. Cam doesn’t find Matt’s actions creepy or inappropriate though. He sees it as an act of kindness. Cameron Leto is magnetized to the dragon shifter; his fear somehow makes him more attracted to the producer. Cam wants to learn more, see more.
Cam’s leg twitches slightly under Laramie’s touch. His cock stiffens in his underwear.
Matt’s wearing the same, tight, long-sleeved black shirt from last night. His hair is a little frizzy, tucked behind his ears. The hair on the back of his hand curls over his sleeve. Cam isn’t sure where this heat is coming from, but he doesn’t want to fight it. Out-of-the-box. Other-worldly. Cameron Leto wants to relinquish to his instincts.
He sits up and kisses Laramie. A three second peck on the lips. “You can trust me,” Cam says. He rests his palm on top of Laramie’s hand. After Cam pulls away, he leaves his hand there. The corners of Laramie’s lips curl upward. He side-eyes Cam, smirking, before grabbing his forearm and pulling him back. They kiss longer and harder and deeper this time; Cam parts his lips and Matt pushes in, quickly establishing a pattern with Cam’s tongue, coating each other with their hypnotic sheens.
Laramie grabs the back of Cam’s neck. Cam pushes against his chest, swinging his leg over Laramie’s body and awkwardly sitting on his lap. With muscled arms, Laramie cradles Cam against him, positioning Cam’s thin frame over his cock. Cam gyrates on top of Laramie’s cock, rubbing it between his ass cheeks, through his underwear. Cam’s never even touched his own ass hole before, but all he wants now is for Laramie’s thick cock to impale him. The pressure. The unknown... Cam wants that bright pain that erupts into unruly, ecstatic pleasure.
They keep kissing, with more urgency now. Laramie lies down and Cam stretches out against the shifter’s abdominals and chest. He grabs Cam’s ass, jiggling his ass cheeks. Cam wants Laramie’s finger in his hole. He thinks nothing will feel better.
Cam’s hard as a rock now. He’s never been so horny in his life. Cam doesn't understand any of this... He decides to stop trying to understand. All he knows is kissing Laramie the dragon shifter feels natural, instinctive, like their bodies were tailored for one another.
Laramie slaps Cam’s ass. Cam moans before attempting to surrender all his thoughts, all of his mind’s theories and misgivings, and give in to the holy gluttony, the essence of his feeling, the vibrancy of Laramie’s touch. Cam
wrecks all of his walls, closes his eyes and damns his river of thoughts, accepting his vulnerability before finally, ultimately, eminently, flipping his consciousness off and submitting himself fully to Laramie the dragon shifter.
Like a dagger: pain. Cam keels over, clutching his sides to hold himself together. Falls and can’t get up, fetal position, shaking, perspiring, tunnel vision. Pain. Pain that’s intense and electrifying and blinding like a spotlight. Laramie the dragon puts his wet snout on Cam’s cheek. Half-dead, delirious, Cam looks up at the dragon. “Help?” asks Cam. “This is your fault–
Omega Wanted: Bad Boy Mpreg Romance Page 49