Page 64 of Filthy Rock Stars

I convulse, my hole clenching as my body quakes. I’m like a machine, a vibrating vice wrapped around Shadow’s sheathed cock, slowly shaken apart by the sheer force of pleasure.

“Nico,” he groans. When Shadow starts thrusting again, he sends us both over the edge. I fall against the wall as an orgasm that starts at my hole erupts through the rest of me. I moan his name and slip on the wet floor, and Shadow catches me, moaning my name back.

He pulls out, throws the condom aside, and takes me in a kiss, and when the world comes back into focus, we hear a pounding at the door.

“Oh right,” he says, kisses me, and slips away with a towel. “Be right back.”

I stand under the hot water, panting and tired. The last week in the hotel has been amazing. We’ve spent countless hours talking and sharing stories from our lives, but the time we aren’t talking has been just as important.

Long sessions playing music together, my songs and his, old favorites and new improvisations. He adds an edge to the space opera, and whenever we slip into a cover, it’s like his guitar and my keys chase each other, dance together.

Make love.

It’s cheesy that I keep thinking that, but it’s how this feels. We’re making love.

Shadow lavishes attention on my body. He drags his lips across my skin, tastes me everywhere. We keep each other undressed, and I learn his scars, the lines of his muscles, the pattern of his beard.

We go slow and steady, moving at the speed of our breath until we lose control and I’m screaming again, yelling filthy things and clawing at his back.

It’s hot. Being with Shadow has always been hot. But with each passing day in the hotel, this starts to feel different. The sex deepens and expands, and new parts of him are exposed.

Tender parts. Strong parts. Places where he’s been hurt and doesn’t even realize it.

Kissing Dirt is back today, and there’s a lot to confront after we leave this oasis. I’m not in denial about the challenges waiting for me and Shadow. But I can’t deny how my feelings for him are growing, either.

I can’t deny how this feels.

I wrap a fluffy white robe around myself and wander back into the room, and when I get there, I see a rack of clothes waiting. Shadow is beside it, a towel around his waist, studying a white dress shirt.

“What’s this?” I ask.

He turns and smiles. His hair is still wet, long enough to fall against his forehead now, and his face flushed from the long, hot shower. “Just a little surprise.” He leans forward and kisses me. “Thought you’d appreciate a confidence boost for the special occasion.”

“Special occasion?”

“Our one-week hotel anniversary.” He grins. “Just kidding. You’re telling Kissing Dirt that you want to join the band today. What better time for a rock star makeover?”

My heart melts. Shadow keeps doing this. He hypes me up about joining the band, and it’s so sweet, but I wonder if he’s in denial about the complications.

Today is the day I tell the band about Shadow. Outside of giving me his blessing, he’s largely avoided acknowledging that.

I take the dress shirt that he offers me. The fabric is crisp and bleach white, with a stylish cut to the collar and fat black buttons. When I look at the rack more closely, I see that it’s covered with similar clothes, suits and dress shirts.

“Shadow,” I whisper, at a loss for words.

“It’s nothing,” he says quickly, waving a hand to dismiss it, maybe even a little embarrassed. “I was just thinking about it, and your style is perfect. You’ve got a classic rock look.”

I laugh. “I do?”

“Sure. You’ve got that Buddy Holly, Weezer kind of vibe. A little more Devo than Fall Out Boy, maybe, but if you changed to black shirts, you’d blend right in with Coheed and Cambria.” He arches an eyebrow. “You know. High-concept sci-fi albums about cyborgs?”

I laugh. “The geeks of rock and roll?”

“You know I’m a fan.”

“Maybe I’ll just always feel like a faker.”

“In rock music, we call those posers,” he teases.

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