Page 25 of Veiled

“Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t they just relax, and if I show up in their town, be happy.”

I snort at that. “Because you’re Justin St. James, and you’ve been MIA for a while. They all want to win the internet and get you on camera. You know this.”

“I hate it,” he grumbles, and I sigh again. I let him down for so long. How the hell did I not see this? He’s miserable. Not his usual high after these shows because he had to deal with people groping him on his way out.

“I’m sorry,” I say honestly. I don’t like it when he’s sad. It makes me sad too, as odd and kind of pathetic as that is.

He’s quiet on the three-hour drive to a town away from the bar he performed at tonight. I think we’re in Oklahoma. Yeah, it’s Oklahoma tonight. I go through a drive-thru on the way to the hotel, Justin having put a hat on and lowering the brim as he curls up in his seat.

No one notices. Thank fuck.

We get to the hotel, but he’s busy sulking instead of eating, and I don’t really feel like eating either.

“Tonight was still good, Justin. You still got to perform, and no one followed us.”

He just kicks his shoes off and scoots up the bed, leaning against the numerous pillows against the headboard.

I get it. I really do. But he’s also being a bit of a brat. I move to the bed, kicking off my shoes, pulling off my socks, removing my suit jacket, and then sitting down next to him. He shocks the hell out of me by laying his head on my shoulder, but I don’t say anything.

I just stroke through his hair with my fingers and try to offer him some comfort. “I know you hate when people paw at you.”

“I just want simple, you know? The bar had three times as many people in it tonight by the time I was through with my first song.”

It’s true. The speed of the internet is getting faster and faster, and anyone who was in the area was right in that bar as quickly as they could get there. “Maybe I chose too populated of an area,” I admit.

He sighs softly. “I know I’m being ridiculous. Soon, there won’t be anywhere to hide, and it makes me slightly sick.”

“You could do shows live on the internet or something. Stream from your cabin.” I stroke his hair softly.

He grumbles, and I fight the urge to laugh at his grumpy tone. “It’s not the same. I just want a small, simple atmosphere, you know? I just want it to be about the music and not the fame.”

He’s so damn different from all my other clients. There’s no denying it. My job with all of them is to keep them famous. Not keep the fame at bay. “It’s still about the music, Justin,” I assure him. “You were a sight up there tonight. Beautiful.”

He looks at me, his eyes a little glassy and tired, his tongue darting out and licking his parched lips. I try not to. I really fucking do. I know this is a terrible idea, but I can’t resist. I lean into him, capturing his lips with my own.

He doesn’t shove me away like he should. No. He kisses me back hard, his lips fierce and his tongue searching. “This is a bad idea.” I have to at least say it out loud once.

“Totally,” he says, sitting back just enough to strip his shirt off and toss it before his lips meet mine again with a hungry passion.

His fingers start on the buttons of my shirt as I kiss him, my fingers going through his hair. I can’t get enough. I know this is a horrible idea, but I just can’t stop myself. He was beautiful on that stage. His words are beautiful. The music he creates. It’s all too damn much, and I’m only human, damn it.

He gets all the buttons undone and pushes my shirt off my shoulders, his mouth going to my bare chest, leaving soft kisses. “I can’t resist you. Why the hell can’t I?” he asks almost in wonder.

He pushes me back, and I comply, falling onto the bed as he kisses down my stomach and reaches the top of my pants. He slowly undoes my belt and then my pants, prying them open but then going back to the bare skin of my abdomen. “Justin,” I plead, my aching dick still confined and needing release.

I can feel the asshole smiling against my skin, but he just uses his tongue to slide around my belly button and drag over my ribs, driving me insane. My hands are in his hair, but I don’t guide him to where I want him. He knows exactly where I want him.

He slowly works his way down, pushing my pants down but leaving my tight briefs on. I kick away the pants and moan ridiculously loud when he mouths my hard dick and balls through the briefs, the fabric soaking wet from my pre-cum and his saliva.

“Justin,” I try again, my voice hoarse.

“You smell so damn good. You smell...” He sounds wrecked already, and he’s still wearing his jeans. “You smell like home.”

“Fuck,” I say, my hands dragging through his hair. “Please. I’m dying here. Suck me.”

His long, graceful fingers move to the hem of my briefs, and finally, he pulls them down. My hard cock slaps against my lower stomach, and my balls scream in relief. He shimmies them down my thighs, and I kick them off before he moves back up. I part my legs, hoping he’ll give me some relief, but the bastard kisses and sucks on the inside of my thighs.

Everything before this has been hurried. Rushed. It seems he’s going to take his time with me this time, and I don’t know if that’s better or worse. I want it. There’s no denying that, but the longer he kisses my thighs, the more time he takes, fixated on my body, the more I become addicted to the feeling.

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