Page 126 of Naughty Dreams
His desire to write or compose had gone dormant again.
It had shown signs of life at Madison’s, surrounded by things that he’d fantasized about, that related to the road he and Roy had just started to go down. Then Roy had taken him to The Rocking Duck, reminding him of music’s power to transport him to a different plane of existence.
The common element wasn’t lost on him. The connection to Roy, the desire to serve him, call him his Master, wanting Roy to take control, could braid itself into a possible lifeline back to his creative self.
But healing required time. A no brainer, but when things hurt this bad, it was hard to believe truth, even if it was sung by a choir of angels. Or offered by a phenomenal foster mother or superhero bodyguard.
Roy mostly stayed in the background, but he also helped. When Marjorie mentioned having a problem with her kitchen sink, DJ was treated to the sight of him stretched out on the kitchen linoleum, half of him under the sink with a wrench. The jeans he wore clung to all the right places, one thigh bent, the other leg a straight line.
Marjorie caught him ogling, and DJ mortified himself by blushing. “What are you laughing at, Marjorie?” Roy asked as he emerged, wiping at the hair feathering across his forehead with a damp hand.
“Just the squirrels playing in the tree outside the window,” Marjorie said smoothly. She sent DJ a wink.
That night, Marjorie put Roy to work helping her make lasagna while DJ churned homemade ice cream. Roy rolling up his shirt sleeves and helping his foster mother cook was pretty sexy, too.
Thinking about his lost bandmates or distracting himself with lustful thoughts about Roy? No brainer on which he chose, when his beleaguered heart gave him the option.
Because he was in his childhood home, DJ had been absurdly hesitant to invite Roy to his bed, and Roy respectfully didn’t push it. However, as he watched Roy, his gray eyes smiling at Marjorie, his hands laying out strips of pasta, his lips pressing together to test the sauce when she extended the spoon to him, heat built up in DJ like a fire fed with a winter’s worth of dry kindling.
He considered what errand they could run that would require both of them. They could make a beeline for the closest hotel, and pay a night’s rate for thirty minutes of passionate coupling.
Hell, he was thinking too much like an adult. They’d just drive the SUV down one of the bumpy rural roads every teen in the area knew was best for sweaty, crazy, “we only have a limited amount of time before the cops come by” sex.
Yeah, Roy wasn’t going to go for that. Totally unsecured environment.
Tonight, when DJ went to bed, he could make do with his hand and fantasize about his bodyguard, just down the hall. But as always, that idea ran full tilt into the billboard wall of what kind of submissive Roy said he wanted, and DJ longed to be for him. Damn it.
As if he knew where his mind was, Roy glanced toward him. Marjorie was looking for a spice in the pantry, so Roy’s eyes gota silver glint, his firm lips curving. DJ fumbled the ice cream handle.
“If the ice cream is done, DJ,” Marjorie called over her shoulder, “let’s get it into the freezer and set the table.”
DJ rose to comply, but as he passed Roy, he muttered, “You’re such a tease.”
“Now you know what it’s like to be around you,” his bodyguard rejoined with a rumbling chuckle. But it wasn’t just about the sex. That was what made it even more difficult.
Marjorie had DJ put two of the settings across from one another, and one at the head of the table. When it was time to eat, she gestured to Roy to take that one. She sent DJ an enigmatic look. “It feels right, doesn’t it?”
Marjorie knew so much, but he hadn’t expected her to sense what was between him and Roy. He had his own response to it, though.
“If it was just him and me, yeah.” When he looked toward Roy, Roy’s expression increased that coil of need inside DJ. “But I think this makes more sense.”
Coming to the head of the table, he pulled out the chair and nodded to her. “This is your chair. It’s always been yours.”
Her eyes got a little wet, but she sat down. DJ kissed the top of her head, putting an arm around her shoulders to hold onto her. “I love you,” he murmured.
“Stop that,” she sniffled. “I refuse to cry into my lasagna.”
He grinned and let her go, but his own chest was tight.
During dinner, the lustful feelings got worse. Hell, just watching Roy eat was getting DJ worked up. He was precise and mannerly—a napkin was almost wasted on him—and he complimented Marjorie on the meal, as well as the pineapple upside down cake they had with a side of the homemade ice cream.
After the meal was done and Roy and DJ handled dish duty, they headed for the porch. Roy and Marjorie had coffee and DJ had tea. Marjorie offered Roy a shot of Bailey’s and a teaspoon of whipped cream. Roy declined the Bailey’s, but took an extra spoonful of the whipped cream.
DJ had never seen Roy drink. Was it because when he was around DJ, he was always on the job? DJ wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“Take the porch swing,” she told Roy. “DJ, you sit next to him, so I don’t have to overwork my neck, looking between you while we chat. Don’t worry,” she added as Roy gave the swing a critical look. “It’s survived three rough boys and their friends. The chains are bolted into that ceiling beam.”
“You had a smart carpenter.”
