THE RISKS OF SARDINING
TJ
A sleek black limo pulls to the curb a few minutes later, the late afternoon sun glinting on the roof. We slide into the opulent vehicle, and Slade claps. “Well done, men. Well fucking done.”
“Thanks?” I say, but with a question mark. “Did something happen just now?”
“You have a ship name!” Slade announces.
And I also have a burst eardrum from the PR guy shouting in glee. I rub my knuckles against my ear. “Ow.”
“Oh, hush. You can handle my excitement.” Slade thrusts his phone at us, clicking on the Instagram handle All The Tea. “They’re calling you . . . wait.” He jerks his phone back to his chest, clutches it close. “You want to guess?”
I take the bait. “I’ll go . . . Tude.”
Jude grabs his stomach, cracking up. Good. I wanted to make him laugh.
“Guess again,” Slade says.
“JudeJay,” Jude offers.
Slade makes a rolling gesture with his hand, his eyes flickering with glee. “Nope. Keep going.”
I rattle off options like a wordsmith getting his mojo back. “HardFox. FoxHard. ManFox,” I say, and Slade shakes his head with each one. Then Jude and I both blurt out, “FoxMan.”
Slade pumps a fist. “Yes! Is that a beautiful name or what? It makes me so very, very happy,” he says, indulging in a long, contented sigh. Damn, this man digs his job.
“So you picked us up to tell us that?” I ask, curious.
Slade scoffs. “No, I picked you up because this is next level, and it’s given me all sorts of ideas.”
But his devilish tone gives me all sorts of pause. “What kind of ideas?”
Slade looks at the two of us. “You like music, don’t you?”
Who doesn’t? “Love it,” I say.
“TJ introduced me to music in London,” Jude says matter-of-factly.
“The Goat’s Nipple,” I whisper.
Jude smiles.
Slade furrows his brow. “You didn’t know music before?”
Jude shakes his head. “I had awful taste. He gave me good taste,” Jude says, nostalgic, and so am I.
“Aww. That’s too cute. Can you share that with the press? That’d be fun for an interview.”
I look to Jude to gauge his reaction. His eyes say nah. So does my gut. Some things are only for the two of us. “I think we might keep that between us,” I say.
“Fair enough,” Slade says, then rubs his palms. “Anyway, I was gonna have you do a pool and darts hang out with the New York Leopards, but I want to go bigger. Put you guys out there more. Really embrace the FoxMan mojo. How do you feel about first-class travel?”
“Is there any other way to fly?” I ask.
“There is not.” My fake boyfriend offers me a hand for high-fiving.
Slade practically squeals. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. This whole FoxMan vibe is gold. And I’m going to sell this gold for a fat profit.” He explains he’s sending us on a little trip to visit three cities—Las Vegas, Paris, and London. And we leave on Thursday to attend a charity concert this weekend in the city of sin. “Think you can swing it? TJ, you can write as you travel, right?”
Of course I can.
But this idea is wildly dangerous. Talk about from the frying pan into the fire. Jude and I agreed this thing between us is difficult, so I’m sure that forcing the two of us to not only fake a romance for the cameras but to fake it while sharing a plane, train, automobile, and, oh, hotel room is like jumping from a stroller to a speedboat.
But I also doubt we have a choice. “Have laptop. Will write,” I say, answering the latter question, but not the former.
Can we pull off the fake boyfriend game without combusting? It’s anyone’s guess.
“Jude?” Slade asks. “Your schedule is clear, I trust? Especially since you’ve already got the London press junket on your schedule, and we’ll just squeeze in a day at a film festival in Paris. No hardship, I presume?”
“Absolutely. Everything sounds grand,” he answers eagerly, the rising star happy to please. But I can’t tell if he’s actually worried about the real risks of all this sardining or if he’s just excited we’re finally clicking for the cameras.
Slade looks at his watch. “All right. I’ll send you deets. Right now, I’m gonna jet. I have a date with a lovely lady. I’m going to have the driver drop me off at a trend-ay new sushi joint.”
My mind snags on one word he just said. “You have a date with a woman?”
Slade’s eyes bug out. “That surprises you?”
“I thought . . .” But I shut up. I shouldn’t make assumptions about his orientation.
“You thought I was gay because of the comment I made about the sexy guys on the Leopards and because of the hot piece of man I took to the theater?”
I feel a little foolish now for assuming. I should know better. “I did,” I say quietly.
“Not a bad guess, but guess again. I float down the pansexual river, and it’s glorious to ride,” he says as the car stops, then he scoots out of the backseat, patting the open door. “Feel free to take my wheels all the way to Jude’s place right now.”
I only have to guess once as to his meaning—he wants us to keep up the appearance of banging.
And banging is the kind of sardining risk I’m more than willing to take.
Jude scratches his jaw, all casual and cool. “You know, TJ, the man has some good ideas.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I am definitely all talked out.
Good thing I have other uses for my mouth.
We’re in his bedroom, and Jude’s still in his jeans, but his shirt is off. I lick my way down his chest when I get the bright idea to scrape at his nipples with my teeth. See if he likes it a little rough.
The answer? He curls his hands tight around my skull, fingers threading into my hair. “Yes, harder,” he urges.
Pretty sure that’s new. Jude’s interest in teeth. Since I don’t fuck around with his orders, I bite down on a nipple.
With a carnal groan, his hips shoot up. His hard-on rubs against my pecs giving me a very clear sense of how much he likes teeth. But I’m eager to know something. “Have you always been into nipple play?”
“Shut up and do it again,” he tells me.
I obey as I lick my way over to his other nipple, swirling my tongue along the tan disc then nipping.
“Unghhh,” he grunts.
I want to ask if he liked it this much the last time we were together. Except . . . I don’t think I’ve ever done this to him with so much intent.
When did he discover his biting kink? Who helped him?
I kick away those jealous thoughts as I climb up to him, kissing along his collarbone. I focus on making him lose his mind rather than analyzing every detail of how he’s acquired his likes and dislikes in bed.
I bite his shoulder.
“Yessssss,” he murmurs, the sound of his pleasure making me throb and fading the twinge of envy in my chest.
I fucking love turning Jude on. I stretch his arms over his head then spread out his body under me so I can savor him. His heady gaze tracks me as I indulge in the taste of his skin, the masculine scent of him. I inhale his armpit, my throat rumbling in response, and he groans right along with me.
Then I move my mouth along his arm, alternating between slow, sensual kisses in the crook of his elbow and sharp, hard nibbles along his forearm. His gasps and groans are the soundtrack to his pleasure.
Mine too, since my dick is thumping against my fly. My mind is a lusty haze as I dip down to his torso, licking him as I go, nipping his flesh, then kissing hard enough to leave marks.
He writhes, a man undone by my touch.
Yes.
When I reach the waistband of his jeans, I unzip them then visit his hips, biting down right there at the edge of his V-line.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “Yes, yes, yes.”
I wiggle his pants down his ass, and he pushes them along, raring to get naked for me.
Once the denim hits his knees, I go for it. I bite his thighs.
“God!” he shouts, and I’m even harder. Hell, I am so goddamn horny. I don’t fucking care when he fell for teeth and lips and bite marks. I’m the one who’s driving him wild now, and that’s all that matters.
In a flurry, I undress him completely, savoring the power imbalance. I’m fully clothed, and he’s naked. He’s also cranked all the way up. His hand grips his cock, offering it to me. “Suck me off. Please.”
Jude hardly ever pleads with me. It’s usually the other way around, but I’m digging the shift. So damn much.
I reach for the hem of my shirt, then yank it off in one smooth move.
“Now I know why you wore that shirt. That’s such a romance hero move, and it’s really fucking hot,” he rasps out.
“I wish I could say I planned that but . . .”
“That’s why it’s so sexy. It’s just you.” He sits up, grabbing my face. “Kiss me before you suck me.”
This is a whole new Jude today, and I am here for it. Maybe because I’m here for him. I’m down for whatever he wants. I kiss him ruthlessly, giving his lips the same treatment I gave his body, sucking and biting.
“I’m sure Slade would want us to,” I say.
Jude closes the distance, holds my face. “I’m not asking for Slade. I’m asking for me, TJ. Will you share a car with me because I want to go with you?”
My chest glows. I know this feeling. I chase this feeling for my characters.
Infatuation.
With Jude, it’s even more terrifying the third time around, especially since I say yes.