Page 41 of Playing By Ear
“‘Perry grasps the back of Jamie’s head, wanting to shove him down harder.’”
“Firstly, audio description doesn’t tell thoughts,” Perry said. “Secondly, that’s not what I want.”
“‘Jamie gives Perry a skeptical smirk.’”
“Very funny,” Perry said. “Seriously, though, do what you like. I’m—”
“‘Jamie devours him, hard and fast.’”
“Fuck…”
“‘Perry thrusts his hips, straining for more of Jamie’s mouth.’”
Perry did it with more force, fucking Jamie’s tightening fist.
“‘His face flushes, making him ever more gorgeous.’”
“God, yes. Don’t stop, Jamie.”
Jamie moaned in response, his lips a pair of roses in the wheat field of his sandy beard, reddening more with each glide of Perry’s fingers.
Perry was getting close, every nerve sparking with that signature mix of bliss and agitation.
Jamie licked his lips. “‘Perry gazes into Jamie’s eyes while he comes.’”
It was a right battle to keep his eyes fixed on Jamie’s face. Every muscle went rigid, even his fingers in Jamie’s mouth, bulging out his cheek.
Perry’s knees lifted as he came in a rush, his body trying to fold in half as though drawn in with a rubber band. He made sounds that needed no explanatory words.
Jamie gave him a final pair of slow strokes, then let go. “‘Perry is still shaking.’”
Perry laughed, then grasped Jamie’s face in both hands and kissed him deeply. When at last their mouths parted, he pressed his forehead to Jamie’s, utterly robbed of words.
“Looks like we spared the couch,” Jamie said, “but you’ll be needing a clean top. In your wardrobe?”
“Yeah. Long-sleeved are on the left side.” Perry carefully slipped off his shirt.
“Christ,” Jamie said with a rush of air. “Fuckin’ ripped, so you are.”
“I like to stay fit for football.”
“Me, too, but my abs look nothing like yours.”
As Jamie left the room, Perry zipped his trousers, wincing slightly. Soon he’d have to explain why he needed this level of fitness—not to mention the cameras in his bedroom, which Jamie would now be seeing for the first time.
Jamie returned and dropped a soft cotton button-down shirt in Perry’s lap. “This one okay?”
“Great.” Perry tugged Jamie down to sit beside him. “But first, I’ve a challenge for you.” He slid off the sofa onto his knees, then insinuated himself between Jamie’s thighs. “I bet you can’t narrate your own orgasm.”
“What do I win if I succeed?”
Perry considered it as he undid Jamie’s trousers. “Pride. You win pride.”
“I could use some of that.” Jamie lowered the pitch of his voice. “‘Perry’s hand wraps around—’” He drew in a sharp gasp. “Ah.”
Jamie produced no more sentences. In fact, not even a word.
Chapter 8
