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.

  He’s panting in my mouth in seconds, then falling away from me, his head thumping back on the pillow. “Need you now,” he says, slamming his palms on my shoulders, shoving me down his body.

  I settle between his thighs, my mouth watering at the sight of his aching cock. He’s dripping. “Baby, you’re so fucking turned on, you’re leaking,” I murmur as I flick my tongue against those inviting drops. One taste, and my head swims with lust.

  “Get your mouth on me. Please. Fucking please,” Jude says, pushing my face onto the crown of his cock.

  I want to tease him, but I don’t have the willpower. As I lick more of his salty arousal, adrenaline pumps through me. The scent of him makes me so wired that my own fantasies spin out of control. “Make me choke on your cock,” I tell him, and his whole body jerks in response.

  He can’t even respond with words since I swallow him in a heartbeat. All he can do is grunt as I take him to the back of my throat.

  Jude fucks my mouth relentlessly, shoving his cock as far down as he can go. My throat will be sore when he’s done, and that’s fine by me. I suck him hard, gagging when he thrusts deep. He doesn’t stop, not even when I cough, not even when saliva slides down my chin.

  I don’t care, and he doesn’t care.

  “Take it all,” he begs.

  Jude could order me around. He could give me any command he wanted, and I’d suck him just as hard.

  But he’s pleading, and it’s so unlike him, and it’s so fucking sexy.

  My eyes water. My mouth waters. He’s pummeling my throat, and it’s awesome. But it could be more awesome if I do this . . .

  Letting go of his thighs, I sneak a hand between his legs and tug on his balls.

  “Yes!”

  He doesn’t stop shouting. Or panting. Or crying out. And that’s good because I will choke for real in fifteen more seconds. I need his lift-off, stat.

  I drag a finger against the spit spilling down my chin, then push my finger into his hole. An animalistic groan rips from his chest as his climax floods my throat. His entire body shakes. When I’ve sucked him dry, I drop him from my mouth, coughing as I catch my breath.

  Jude moans and gasps. He still hasn’t come down from his high as I stretch across the bed to his nightstand. I grab the lube then shove off my jeans. My dick’s aching, and I have to come fucking soon. Straddling his stomach, I lube up my hand.

  Jude blinks. Seems to reconnect with reality. Then unleashes the most wicked grin as he stares at me. “Come all over me. Been dying to watch you get off.”

  “Then here’s your wish, baby,” I say, my voice rough from the abuse.

  Grabbing my dick, I stroke fast and furiously. This won’t take me long at all. Several hard jerks later, my balls tighten.

  “You’re so fucking sexy.” He grunts as I squeeze the tip on an upstroke. “So fucking hot.”

  His praise makes me go faster. My hand’s a blur on my shaft. And my guy is a ravenous beast, rasping out an order: “Come on my face.”

  My blood roars.

  He parts his lips, licks them salaciously.

  I slide up Jude’s body, straddling his shoulders, and give him what he asked for with one final twist of my wrist. Pleasure annihilates me. It seizes my cells as I unload on his gorgeous movie-star face, painting his lips and chin with my release. It’s filthy and possessive all at once. I’m marking him, and he wants to be claimed at the same damn time.

  As the aftershocks rocket through me, he licks my climax off his lips then wipes the rest onto his fingers, sucking each one.

  I shudder.

  There’s never been anything sexier in the entire world than Jude Fox licking my orgasm off his fingers.

  I dip my head to him, our foreheads pressing together as we breathe out hard. My lips find his. I taste me on him. We kiss slow and hungry, both sated and exhausted. Then I head to the bathroom, straighten up, and wet a washcloth.

  Back in his bedroom, I clean his face and his chest. He smiles so damn contentedly. I drop another kiss to his lush lips, then I take the cloth to the laundry closet and set it in a basket full of dirty towels.

  When I return, I flop next to Jude and sigh happily. “That was—”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  He echoes my unfinished thoughts.

  Will he be on the same page, though, with the other things I want to do in bed? Like switching it up with me someday? Back in Los Angeles, I wanted to ask, but I never found the chance. I take the opportunity now. “I’ve got a long list of things I want to do with you,” I tell him, my voice still raspy.

  Slowly, he shifts his body toward me, his eyes intrigued. “Like a sex list?”

  “Yes,” I say, my chest heating as I picture all the sex we can have.

  “What’s on it?” He sounds enrapt.

  “Well,” I say, my fingers tracing the grooves of his abs like I can find my confidence there, “pretty much everything.”

  “Mmm. I like everything,” he murmurs, then dips his face to mine, presses a soft kiss to my lips. When he pulls back, he says, “Tell me more.”

  This shouldn’t be hard to say. But it’s tough for a guy who’s obsessed with control. So I talk around it. “Things I want you to do to me. That sort of everything.”

  A sexy smile spreads nice and easy on his lips. “Everything with you sounds good to me.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, excitement and arousal pinging through my cells.

  “Really fucking good, TJ.”

  So many deliciously dirty daydreams fight their way to the front of the line, crowding my head, making it hard for me to form sentences, let alone words. I try to say something witty or sexy, but the only thing that slips past my lips is a heated mmm.

  Perhaps sensing what I need, Jude speaks to me first through touch. His hand slides down my arm, then to my hip, finally resting on my ass. “Maybe you can share more of that list with me in Vegas. Sounds like the perfect setting for everything,” he says.

  My heart hammers wildly just from the man I want saying—for all intents and purposes—that he’ll fuck me soon. Very soon.

  “Sounds good to me,” I say.

  He gives me a firm squeeze. “Now I’m horny again.”

  I steal an obvious peek at the evidence. Yup. He’s half hard. Same here. “That’s pretty much a given for me when I’m with you.”

  Jude lets go, stretching his arms above his head. “Have you ever heard of this book called Happy Trail?”

  I laugh lightly. “Um, maybe. Is the author a strapping stud with a great beard and a cock you love sucking?”

  Jude languidly shifts to his side, brushes his fingertips down my chest. “Remember that scene when Clint took Nick back to his ranch home, ripped off his clothes, and tossed him down on the couch?”

  That sneaky fucker. That sexy, sneaky, clever fucker. Mouth agape, I stare slack-jawed at Jude. “You were trying out a scene from one of my books?”

  He shrugs slyly. “Well, Clint liked to bite Nick, and Nick discovered he liked Clint’s teeth. That gave me the idea.”

  “You do enjoy fieldwork,” I say, somehow even more satisfied than I already was.

  “I didn’t know if I’d like being bitten, but it was so sexy in your book. So once you bit me, I wanted to find out.”

  “And the verdict is . . . do it again sometime?”

  His eyes darken. He holds my gaze in a way that feels more than sexual. “I want to do everything again when it comes to you.”

  What a perfect line from a hero. Only it’s real, and it’s mine, and I want to keep it all to myself.

  I don’t want to put it in a story because I want it to be ours.

  Only ours.

  Before the day coasts into twilight, I get dressed and head to the door. Jude follows.

  “I’d invite you to stay,” he says, “but I demand you go home and handcuff yourself to your laptop.”

  That’s my plan. I’ll miss him, but this novel won’t write itself. “You’re feeding me orgasms to get me to make words,” I tease.

  “Good thing I like both coming and reading.” He glances at the clock in his kitchen, quickly shifting to a new topic. I appreciate that he didn’t ask to see my pages. I’m not ready yet to show anyone but Hazel and my agent. “Want to share a car to the airport on Thursday?”

  “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.

  19

  My Secret Cave in Middle Earth

  TJ

  * * *

  First comes the bright tone of the trumpet—next the majestic rumble of the tuba. Then the crisp rattle of the snare drum.

  Mason rounds his desk, waving an imaginary baton, conducting the marching band pumping through his computer.

  “You wanted a parade,” he declares as I stare from the doorway, my jaw on the floor. In the pantheon of Mason praise, this is Everest.

  “For real?”

  He stretches across his desk with a flourish, hits a key, then cuts the sound. “For real, but don’t let it go to your head, kid.”

  “You do an excellent job at downsizing my head daily.”

  The dapper man takes a chair across from the couch, gesturing for me to grab a seat too.

  I do, and I’m literally and figuratively on the edge of it. The possibility that the pages I sent him last night aren’t garbage is exhilarating. But just to make sure . . . “So? You like the first few chapters?”

  “No, TJ. I just planned that entire Sousa reenactment on a Wednesday morning because I hated them,” he says with an aggrieved sigh, lifting his gaze heavenward. “What is it with today’s youth? They’re so needy. Back in my day—”

  “Oh, we’re talking about the Paleolithic era again. I do love your dinosaur tales. Continue.”

  He ignores me, whipping off his black glasses and setting them on the sleek metal table. “It’s got everything I want in a sexy rom-com. The mix-up with the laundry when the laid-back hero gets the uptight one’s washed and folded clothes, but then they discover they wear the same Rafe Rodmans and that throws them both into a tizzy. Hello! Hot underwear can distract even the most disciplined man!”

  “Especially if it’s yellow with fox illustrations on the waistband,” I offer with a grin.

  “Who knew laundry could be so sexy?”

  Me. I learned it last week with Jude. “Dude, dryers. Am I right?”

  Mason waggles a finger at me. “And the blanket-shopping date. Where did you come up with that? That was brimming with sexual tension and flirting. Also, why are there blankets in literally every store?”

  “Everywhere, blankets are multiplying. So obviously, blankets are banging,” I say, seconding my laid-back hero’s thesis. Also, these fictional guys I’m writing aren’t carbon copies of Jude and me—no one would ever accuse me of being laid-back, and Jude Fox is not uptight.

  This is my imagination cranking.

  But Jude certainly helps.

  “And then that scalding-hot kiss in the back of the SUV while they drove around the city.” Mason brings his fingers to his lips in a chef’s kiss. “It was hate-kiss perfection. And I was like, ‘Tremaine, you sexy beast. Get over here right now, hubs.’”

  That’s the highest of praise. “I’m like lube, Mason.”

  “Top-shelf lube at that. Anyway, after I read the pages, I took the liberty of talking you up to Brooks & Bailey this morning,” he says.

  Shit. I was kind of hoping to stay off my publisher’s radar until I was done. Like maybe they’ll collectively have professional amnesia that I’m a year late with my book.