Page 42 of Naughty Dreams
“Honey, you have no idea.” G chuckled, then continued onward when Roy’s nod told her he had this in hand.
Roy gestured DJ into the storage room and locked the door after them, another barrier if someone got past Jim and Carl. He checked Warren’s status and then, satisfied, turned to find his charge wandering down the aisles of tall shelves. He turned the corner, disappearing. Roy had already cleared the room, but still…
“Dory.”
“Back here. Wow, come look at this.”
When Roy followed, he found DJ in front of a long rack of costumes. Snagging a cowboy hat, he offered it to Roy. “You’d look droolworthy in this and boots. Chaps with nothing under them.”
Roy shook his head and set the hat aside without putting it on. DJ slid a feather boa off of a hanger and tossed it around his own neck, the feathers ruffling. He cocked a fedora over his forehead and posed for Roy, lips pursed, head up, slim body stretched backward, hand to his hair. “Very seventies mixed-signal sexuality. I just need the hair band hair.”
“You got the makeup.”
“Tell me about it.” DJ took off the boa and hung it back on the rack. “Mona uses this stuff no amount of sweat can remove, but it’s itching. There’s a bathroom back here, thank God.” It was a water closet with a sink and commode, tucked in next to a small machine shop for quick repairs. Extra lumber and paint cans were underneath the workbench.
“I like the fedora, though. I’m keeping it.” DJ stripped off Roy’s modified shirt and the hat, and hung both on a hook next to the sink. He bent over, bare back curving, jeans revealing a hint of his upper buttocks and the dimple between as he scrubbed his face with the hand soap there.
“Do you ever wear underwear?”
“Not on stage. It’s just part of the look, though. I like boxers. Those really soft cotton ones that feel like a mother’s cheek is supposed to.”
“Thanks for the horrifying visual of my mother’s face against my ass.”
DJ grinned, his eyes closed. When he groped for a paper towel, Roy pulled several free from the roll and pressed them to his bare chest. DJ gripped his hands before taking the offering. Roy leaned against the doorway, watching him. He was close enough to trail his fingers along the bump of his rib cage, the smooth, toned skin.
He understood the underwear thing. Rockstars like DJ offered titillation and fantasy on stage. But in DJ’s case, Roywondered if he’d already been that way. When he flirted with Roy, he exuded honest sensuality.
“Were you an awkward, pimply geek in high school?” Roy asked.
DJ threw the paper towels away. “Hard to say. When I landed at Marjorie’s, believing that a safe place to sleep and food to eat wouldn’t disappear overnight was my primary focus. But once I was able to get into my music the way I’d always wanted to do, girls paid attention.”
He pointed to his hair and face. “Taken in pieces, I’m not all that handsome, but I have that interesting charisma that record labels like.”
DJ leaned against the wall next to the sink. He didn’t cross his arms over his chest, or hang them by his side. He put them behind his back, palms flat against sheet rock. Pressing his shoulders to the wall lifted his chest and hollowed his stomach, drawing Roy’s attention to the hip bones visible above the hold of the belt.
“When they look at me now, most people see the rockstar. The image, the fantasy they want to see. I’m in there, though.” A slight smile touched his mouth. “Because I am kind of a fantasy.”
Now DJ wasn’t flirting. Not exactly. His eyes had become more serious, his mouth a thinner line. Roy reached out and slid his fingertips along a pectoral, over a nipple. It became a hardened nub under his touch. DJ swallowed, and the muscles in his stomach trembled. Roy’s gaze dipped to the noticeable reaction under denim. He took a step in.
DJ’s eyes wandered over him. “You fill up a space. You fill up my space.” He shook his head. “Shut the hell up for a minute.”
Roy smiled faintly, knowing he wasn’t talking to him.
“Don’t let me forget that one. I can already hear the music for it.”
“So can I.” Roy cupped the side of his face, lifting his jaw with a thumb. “You altered my shirt.”
“Your wardrobe could use some jazzing up. The severe black, gray and white is a little intimidating.”
Roy traced his lips. “Do you want me to be less intimidating, Dory?”
“I just want you. Sir.”
Christ.Roy’s nostrils flared. He could feel the fire between their bodies, like the flare of pyrotechnics on stage.
“Stay still. I’ll tell you if I want you to move.”
The hard jolt that went through DJ was more of that music. Roy scraped his teeth over DJ’s jaw, the lobe of his ear. He smelled of sweat and beneath it, in his damp, curly hair, a lingering shampoo scent. The hair stylist hadn’t slicked it back this time.
