Samir showed his palms. “Nothing. Vicki and I were chatting last night and—”
“Oh God.” Caleb groaned. “Another Vicki-Sammy inside joke. Just what the world needs.”
Works for me. Samir beamed. “Hey, if you were quick enough, we could come up with those little jokes too.”
Caleb made a gesture like he was reeling in a fishing line, and slowly extended his middle finger. Samir chuckled, relieved he’d managed to divert the conversation before he said something incriminating.
Darren closed his MacBook. “So who’s reading next?”
“Sammy?” Mason batted his eyes. “Please tell me you have the last chapter of Axis Mundi finished?”
“Uh, well.” Samir coughed. Truth was, he’d been finished with Axis Mundi for weeks, but he’d only been feeding the group little bits and pieces as a way of stalling them because he’d been afraid the book had fallen apart in the end. Which was why he’d finally gone to his primary beta reader to hopefully sort out the whole mess, and now he was in a bigger mess, which was a pretty good mess, but was still crazy and chaotic and made his head spin just thinking about everything. And now he was afraid to read anything aloud because the book was finished, which meant he would no longer have his standby, “It’s not quite done.”
“Sam?” Heather tilted her head. “You know we can help you if you’re stuck on it.”
“I know. I know. And I appreciate it. I’m just ...” Not very good at saying no when it comes to posting finished work. Even worse at keeping my mouth shut when there’s a possible multimillion-dollar deal on the table. Multimillion-dollar deal involving the series I love and the guy who’s currently blowing up my fucking phone holy shit this doesn’t fit in my head I need a paper bag like right—
“Uh, why doesn’t Caleb read?” Vicki said. “You said you wanted some feedback on chapter four of your novella, right?”
Caleb hesitated. “But, Axis Mundi ...”
“Maybe next week,” Samir said.
“Maybe, my ass,” Heather muttered.
Vicki pointed at the wolf-shaped coin bank in the middle of the table. “Sammy, you know the drill.”
Yeah, he did—you don’t read, you feed the dog. Samir fished his wallet from his pocket and took out two dollars. As he stuffed them into the wolf bank, Caleb set his notebook on the table.
“Well.” Caleb coughed nervously. “This’ll be a bit of a letdown compared to what we all wanted to hear, but ...”
Saved by the wolf.
Caleb started reading and within minutes, the group was giggling. Caleb, aka Sword_of_Raphael (a name he’d kept from an MMORPG) was the funniest writer in the group. He tried for a kind of epic-fantasy atmosphere, and ended up sounding like Douglas Adams doing a Tolkien impersonation, plus werewolves. It broke Samir’s heart a bit that Caleb really, really wanted to write Very Serious and Gritty Books, and just couldn’t. His smarts, his epic knowledge of canon, and probably his Muse conspired to make him the funniest Triple Moon writer alive. He took it with shrugging stoicism—he seemed pleased that people liked it, even though it was nowhere near what he wanted to achieve. Much like a Chinese restaurant getting complimented on its “amazing Mexican food.” He accepted the praise and probably shook his fist at the sky when he was alone.
Once they’d all stopped giggling, Samir looked at Caleb. “So when are you posting that on the site?”
“Hopefully this weekend. I have the draft of the next chapter, but I thought the chase scene might be a bit too silly.”
His chase scenes were even funnier than his interrogation scenes, although nothing beat his death scenes. So of course everybody told Caleb to bring the chapter to the next meeting or else.
After their time was up, they chatted a bit longer about the upcoming weekend, and Samir mumbled something about maybe being stuck at work, and this time at least nobody teased him, and even Vicki managed to keep a straight face—mostly.
Samir was the first who had to run—in part because he really, really itched to know what Anthony had texted him.
He fished the phone from his pocket and touched the screen to get through the messages.
Heya, how’s the group going?
Harmless enough. But then: Just made the housekeeper leave the pillowcase on. It still smells like you.
And then, another minute later: Can’t stop thinking about how you feel inside me.
Ungh. He was so, so glad that he hadn’t checked those in the group. The most benign explanation they’d have come up with would be that he’d been sending himself scheduled messages from a phone he’d called Anthony Rawson, and clearly his whole hero worship was getting out of hand. Ironically, they would’ve believed that story long before they’d believed the truth.
He stared at the blank dialog box.
Wish I could come over there tonight and—
Backspace. Too clingy.
If you can’t stop thinking about it, maybe we should do it—
Right. Because that was less clingy. Backspace.
Please tell me we can do this again—
Backspace.
Finally, he just wrote, I want to see you again soon, and sent it before he could think twice.
In seconds, Anthony replied, The sooner the better.
Samir laughed, which reminded him he’d forgotten to breathe for a moment. Apparently mere mortals who managed to get into bed with Anthony Rawson still required things like oxygen. Amazing.
Why do you have to live so far away?
Okay, so maybe that sounded desperate, clingy, lame, and a million other unflattering things, but whatever. Anthony really did live too far away, damn it.
Almost immediately: LOL. I could ask you the same thing.
Fair point.
Friday’s probably the soonest I can come to your side.
I know. Wish it could be sooner, but I’ll happily wait till Friday.
Samir swallowed, staring at the last message. He still couldn’t quite reconcile the fact that his friend—and now lover—was Anthony, and part of him still couldn’t comprehend that Anthony Rawson, a man who could likely get any gay man into his bed if he just grinned and beckoned, was willing to wait for him. That did not compute.
But somehow, it was true. It was real.
And all he had to do was survive until Friday.
Chapter 13
On my way for the 2x a week ass kicking.
Anthony sent the message to Samir, and then leaned his head against the driver’s side headrest, gazing out at the water and the ferry that was slowly approaching Port Angeles from Victoria. He was itching to get back into the gym. Of course he’d worked out on his own at home, but it was always more intense and more satisfying with a trainer barking orders at him.
Except tonight, he couldn’t convince himself he was looking forward to seeing the trainer who’d be barking the orders. The routine of lifting weights and then fucking each other’s brains out wasn’t nearly as appealing as usual. On a normal day, he’d have been climbing the walls, searching for any excuse to get to Ryan’s early so they could get the weight lifting part out of the way and get to the good stuff.
Today, he’d barely made it out of the house in time to catch the right ferry. And it wasn’t writing that had made him lose track of time.
His phone buzzed on the console. Just don’t let him beat you up too much. Don’t want you sore on Friday.
Anthony groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Friday? He had to wait until Friday?
And what the hell was he supposed to tell Ryan, anyway? “Would it, uh, be awkward if we just train tonight and skip everything else?” He kind of envied the female gender right then. At least they always had the period card as an ace up their sleeve.
Then again, he wasn’t there yet. The ferry wasn’t loading yet.
He eyed his phone.
Maybe ...
Oh hell, why not?
Want some company tonight?
His heart pounded. He glanced at the boat
, then the phone, then the boat. C’mon, Samir. Now or never. Need an answer. C’mon ...
The phone buzzed and startled him so badly he nearly dropped it.
I thought you were busy?
He quickly wrote back, I can change my plans. I want to see you.
Silence.
The boat docked. Cars started unloading.
Come on, Samir.
The phone vibrated and lit up. First an address, then, Should I get condoms, etc?
Anthony grinned. Absolutely. See you in 2-3 hrs, dep. on traffic/ferry.
He had to get out of line now, but he hoped the next text he received as he did was just another confirmation, or Samir telling him he was looking forward to it. At a red light, he checked the phone. I’ll be ready.
He speed-dialed Ryan. Ryan’s record of answering the phone was pretty mixed. He definitely didn’t take his phone into the gym and if he was already there for his own workout, then tough luck. Anthony hated to bail anyway, but making him wait without warning sucked worse. Ryan was always reliable, and besides, he wasn’t just a personal trainer, but a friend with benefits, which ... awkward.
“What’s up?”
“Hi, Ryan, how are you doing? I was on the way to you, but something’s come up. I’ll have to bail.”
“Bad news?”
“Business stuff. The life of a freelancer. I don’t get to say no when clients make extra demands.”
“It would help with the stress.”
“I know. I’ll try to do something next week. I’m sorry. I’ll definitely send you the cash though. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” Did Ryan sound disappointed? Anthony’d never gotten the impression that Ryan thought of him as more than a client with benefits, but even so, Ryan seemed to look forward to their meetings and was maybe even a bit fond of him. He liked Ryan too—it was just that thoughts of Ryan didn’t keep him up at night.
“You going to come over Thursday? Or I could make space this weekend.”
That was out of bounds because he was planning to spend Friday night to Sunday night with Samir. “Deadlines. Once will have to do.”
“Okay. That’s fine. See you Thursday then?”
“Hopefully. I’ll be less frantic once I’ve made some progress here.”
“All right. See you then.”
Definitely not sounding overly bubbly there.
Anthony cursed himself for needlessly lying to a good guy—then again, he’d lied by omission ever since they’d met (“So what do you do?” “I’m a freelancer, stringing buzzwords together for the corporate world.”), and had never bothered to come clean about who he was.
He turned toward Seattle, excitement knotting his stomach. That was a giveaway. No such feelings with Ryan. Ryan was safe and nice and pleasant, but Samir was a true adventure.
And could Samir have possibly lived any farther away?
Yes, actually. He reminded himself of how surprised he’d been when he’d realized Samir lived in Washington, that they were only two and a half hours apart.
Only two and a half hours. Funny how a little horniness could turn “Oh, you’re practically next door!” to “I need a goddamned wormhole to get there.” Pity he hadn’t taken the Ferrari today. It would’ve burned seven hundred gallons of gas each direction, but he’d get there fast.
At a red light—the last one for a while, since he’d be on the highway until the Bainbridge Island–Seattle ferry—he texted, Getting on the hwy. Will msg you when I get on the boat.
When the light turned green, he accelerated, and of course, that was the exact moment his phone vibrated. He gave it a glance, just long enough to see Ok, I’m looking forward to it, and then pulled onto the highway. He blew past a sixty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit sign at around eighty. A sports car passed him like he was going backward, so at least that guy would attract the attention of any cops. Which was good—Anthony could afford the fine and had a clean driving record, but didn’t quite trust himself not to say, “I’m sorry, Officer, I must get into a gorgeous man’s bed as soon as humanly possible.”
The drive from Port Angeles down to Bainbridge Island seemed to take ten times longer than usual. According to the clock on his dash, he actually made it in record time, but that was clearly a mistake because it had taken hours to get this far. On the bright side, the ferry was docking as he pulled into the line, and a quick count of the cars ahead of him indicated he would make this one. As long as the boat didn’t sink, a kraken didn’t leap out of the water, and a meteor didn’t hit Seattle, he’d be at Samir’s doorstep within the hour.
Excitement tingled at the base of his spine, and that sensation climbed higher and higher as car after car rolled forward to board the boat. When the dockworker motioned for Anthony to move, he barely kept himself from grinning. Fuck Friday. He’d leave Chas’s winnings on the counter tomorrow, but he was going to see—touch, taste, feel—Samir tonight. Soon. So, so soon.
He parked on the boat and turned off the engine. Then he texted Samir: On the Bainbridge, shouldn’t be long.
The boat was just pulling away from the dock when Samir replied. Can’t wait. Have everything we need. ;)
Anthony shivered. “Oh my God.” He glanced around, as if everyone on the boat must’ve heard his half-whispered, half-groaned words. Which of course they didn’t because his windows were up, the ferry engines were loud, and it was highly unlikely anyone aboard gave a rat’s ass about a random guy’s lusty outburst.
Face on fire, he texted back, Awesome.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this desperate to see someone. On Monday, he’d been thrilled to have his house back—he was so used to solitude, it was weird to have anyone around for more than an hour or two. But here he was, drumming his fingers on the console and silently begging the ferry captain to see how fast this boat could really go.
The Bainbridge ferry had, thank fuck, a shorter crossing time than the Bremerton—which Anthony would’ve had to take if he’d missed this one—and Samir only lived twenty minutes or so from the dock on the other side. Assuming traffic wasn’t bad. There wasn’t a baseball game tonight, was there? Oh shit. Just what he needed. Right off the ferry and into the absolute mayhem that was fifty thousand people trying to leave a Mariners game on streets that were so not designed for that kind of carnage.
To be sure, he checked his phone. The Mariners were away tonight.
The daily commute had also cleared out, according to the traffic app. He really had to hand it to modern technology. In his younger days, a last-minute dash to another man’s bed hadn’t been aided by a million apps to make sure there was nothing blocking his path.
As the ferry pulled into the dock, he sent the text he’d been dying to send: In Seattle. See you soon.
The dockworkers waved him off the ferry, and his GPS—bitchy as its voice was—guided him right to the base of Samir’s condo. He double-checked the number, paused for a few nervous breaths, and then got out.
He took the stairs two at a time. The door was in sight, and he was walking even faster when his phone buzzed. He almost ignored it—sorry, real world, you don’t matter anymore—but something made him give it a glance.
Door’s unlocked. Let yourself in.
Anthony gulped. He paused outside the door, closed his eyes, took another breath, and then let himself in.
And ...
Holy fuck.
Samir sat on the couch with a grin on his lips and not a stitch of clothing on his body. Fully hard. Stroking himself.
Oh Jesus ...
Anthony shut the door behind him. “Looks like we were on the same wavelength tonight.”
The grin got even bigger. “Then why the hell are you still over there?”
Good question. Anthony managed to make sure that the door really was locked, then closed the distance and bent down to kiss Samir—and that was like they’d been separated for a month and damn, it felt even better than he remembered. With some guys, kissing was just a thing
they did; with Samir, it was sparks and arousal and tenderness and a dozen other emotions.
He dug his fingers into Samir’s wavy black hair and used it to bend his head back so he could kiss his throat. Samir shivered with pleasure. Anthony kept his fist in Samir’s hair and his head tilted as he lowered himself onto one knee.
Samir’s bare chest was too tempting a target, and Anthony closed his lips around a nipple. He rolled the hard nub between his teeth, making Samir yelp and Anthony shiver. Any patience he had left was gone—after driving halfway around the world to see Samir, Anthony wanted him now—and he went even lower. With his free hand, he batted Samir’s fingers away, and then descended on Samir’s cock.
”Holy shit.” Samir squirmed on the couch as Anthony let his hair go and slipped between Samir’s legs on the floor, still fully dressed and just as hard in his jeans as Samir was in his mouth. Without any other thought, he pushed himself further, listening to Samir’s strangled groan when he took him down into his throat, then started moving his head. Seemed all Samir could do was run his fingers through Anthony’s hair, but the touch was random, unfocused, and Samir might not even have known he was doing it.
Anthony went at it with aggressive speed, not giving Samir the option to fuck his throat—he was doing the fucking, and Samir was clearly going insane, considering the sounds he was making.
In the back of his mind, Anthony was aware of all the fantasies that had kept him awake last night—fucking Samir, being fucked—but now that he was here, he couldn’t stop.
“Shit.” Samir shuddered, his fingers twitching against Anthony’s scalp. “You’re ...” He put a firm hand on Anthony’s forehead. “D-don’t make me come. Not yet.”
Anthony could barely grasp why Samir wouldn’t want this to continue, but he didn’t object either. He lifted his head. “Are you—”
Samir grabbed him and cut him off with a kiss. He tugged at Anthony’s shirt, pulling him up, and Anthony let himself be dragged onto the couch. He sat over Samir, clothes rubbing against skin, and kissed him hard while Samir ran his fingers through Anthony’s hair again.
Moonstruck Page 17