8. After the Richmond Show

eight

After the Richmond Show

I woke up and stared at Coleman. He was the most handsome man I’ve ever known. I ran my hand over his muscled chest. His hazel eyes were closed now, but when they were open, they had flecks of gold in them, and when he became excited, a dark green rim appeared around the outside. His dark hair was cut short, but when it got a little long around his ears, it started curling. He liked being clean-shaven, but he had scruff around his chin now. I bet he’d shave before we headed to the airport.

Everything about him spoke to me, and not simply the way he looked. He was Mr. GQ. Most of the time, he was fashionable and stylish. I rarely saw him in jeans or, God forbid, a T-shirt. Unless he was at a concert or working out. Of course, he preferred a tank top for that. It had to be an opposites attract kind of thing with us for sure.

Except he was also the sweetest man I’d ever known. He’d go the extra mile for those he cared about. And he seemed so lonely, though I had no idea why. He was fun, intelligent, and I enjoyed his company.

And I really needed to get my shit together before I ran him off. Because I really wanted him to stick around. At least I did in quiet moments like this when I wasn’t too much in my head.

I crawled out of bed, reluctantly, and headed to the main room of the suite. I needed to get my yoga in. The tour was going to be long, and I was already feeling it.

By the time I finished, Coleman was up with his coffee. “Good morning. Want to get more of a workout? The hotel has a decent gym, I think.”

“Sure. I have a little bit more to do. Meet you down there?”

He walked over to where I still sat cross-legged on the floor and kissed the top of my head. “Sure.”

I watched him leave, and when the door was shut, I got up and dashed into the room, grabbing my duffle. I pulled out sweatpants, but I’d left my sneakers on the bus. I only had my shit kickers, so I put on a clean pair of socks, figuring that would be enough. I grabbed my stash and quickly rolled up a doobie.

I made my way downstairs and out the back service entrance. I wasn’t sure where Drake was, but figured I was safe enough at the hotel. No one else in the world knew where we were. I found an inconspicuous spot. I was good at that. I settled in, leaning against a concrete wall, and lit up, quietly enjoying the morning. It was cooler out since the sun was barely up, but still already hot out. A few tokes, and I put it out, stashing the other half, so I could head up to the gym.

The thought of seeing Colman’s bare chest all wet and sticky with sweat made me hurry. When I used my key to open the door, I found Drake. “Where you been, dude?”

Drake grumbled something but kept on with his workout. I laughed. Okay, it was more like an evil chuckle.

When I spotted Coleman, I made my way over and got on the lat pulldown machine across from where he was using the leg press. And damn, that man had sexy legs with just the right amount of hair. I smiled wickedly and pulled the bar down in front of my chest.

“Well, hey. Where you been?” he asked.

I winked. “Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t miss this. Aren’t you hot?”

Coleman’s tank was wet with sweat in front, making a V between his pecks. “Yeah. Well, I’m working out. I’m supposed to be hot.”

“You can take your shirt off.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

He huffed and rolled his eyes, but he took off his shirt. And threw it at me. I caught it and dropped it on the floor. He flexed his arms, showing off his guns like a beach-bound muscle head.

“Better.” I did another pulldown.

“Are you going to really exercise here or fake it while you ogle me?”

“Yeah, probably that second one.”

“I’m done. Seriously.” He tried to keep a straight face, but he was cracking. And I wanted to see him lose it.

The machine I was on had a long bench in front of it. I suspected it was so someone working out could do them on their back if they wanted. But I was facing Coleman instead of the machine, so the bench stretched in front of me. I lifted my legs on top of it and crossed my ankles. I still held the pulldown bars, but I wasn’t working it. I wiggled my socked toes at him.

And it worked. He busted out laughing and let the weights down. He was on his back in the machine, and I considered straddling him, but I wasn’t sure it would hold both of us, but it didn’t matter because he got up. “Come on, Zig. Let’s go shower.”

“Oh yeah! You don’t have to tell me twice.” I scrambled after him, and he toweled off on the way up the elevator to our room. Our ghost followed behind, shadowing us quietly and without comment. Drake was paid handsomely to protect us, keep us safe, not to butt his nose in our business. And he didn’t. I liked him because he was quiet, inconspicuous, and didn’t give me lectures any time I wanted to do something stupid. Which was probably a lot.

At our room, Drake leaned against the wall in the hallway while we went in and headed straight for the shower. We dropped our clothes on the floor along the way. We could pick them up later. Now, we were both in a hurry to get wet and naked.

The bathroom was spa-like and had a glass door that pretty much made the entire thing a wet room. There was only a skinny glass partition on the tub-shower combo, leaving the rest open. It didn’t matter if the water splashed out over the tile since there was a small drain along the back of the tub. There were three shower heads, and I immediately thought about renovating my place to add more. A standard one came out of the wall, high enough that tall guys could still use it—thankfully. There was also a rainfall showerhead coming from the ceiling. I wasn’t sure how much I liked that one until Coleman got in and turned it on. The third was a handheld, hanging on a hook beside the standard head. But Coleman under the rainfall was a sight.

I bit my lip and joined him, stepping over the side of the tub. I ran my finger down the center of his chest.

“You like?” he asked.

“You know it…”

“Good. Get over here and kiss me.”

My cock sure liked it when he got all commanding on me. It stood even straighter than it already was as I did as he asked and got under with him. We kissed, warm water gently cascading over us. And I officially changed my mind about the rainfall showerhead. I was totally getting one of these installed the second we got off this fucking tour.

Coleman broke our kiss first. “You ready for this?”

“I’m ready for everything any time. Don’t you know that by now?”

“Oh, I know it, Zig. I know it.” He dropped to his knees but promptly sat in the tub, instead. I couldn’t blame him. Porcelain was hard on the knees. It didn’t matter. His torso was tall enough to line up when I spread my legs and bent a little. And he had no problem sucking my dick into his mouth as he grabbed my hips.

I slammed my hand against the marble slab on the wall and thrust forward. “God, yes, Cole…”

He hummed around my cock. This was going to be fast. After the night before, I would have hoped I could last longer, but this man turned me on like no one and nothing else. He squeezed my butt with one hand, his grip spreading my cheek a little. And oh shit! I came hard. And my man took every bit of it.

Coleman took his time washing me up, not letting me return the favor, but I was a determined mother fucker. I got out, and he wrapped me in a towel, but I dropped it on the way to the bed. And shook my ass, peering over my shoulder. Yeah, it was cutesy, but hey…for a taste of Coleman, I’d do nearly anything.

He came up behind me and slapped my ass. “You getting in that bed or playing around all day?”

I growled at him but bounced my ass up on the bed. “Come on, baby.” I wasn’t fully hard yet, but it was getting there. My refractory period wasn’t what it used to be, but Coleman didn’t complain. And his cock was pointing at me like a divining rod. “Give me that beast!”

“You want this?” He grabbed his cock at the base.

“Fuck yeah.”

Coleman crawled up on the mattress and got on his knees. “Show me.”

I lay down flat in front of him. “Feed me…” I opened my mouth and stuck out my flattened tongue. Coleman moaned a little and stroked his cock—twice—before he finally crawled over me and fed me that monster, inch by inch. My man was packing. A fact I’d happily learned long ago. But I could take it.

I loosened my throat and let him fuck my face as much as he wanted. He put his hands on the wall above the bed and thrust in and out until he was reciting, “Yes, yes, God, yes, Zig…” Finally, he pulled out, again gripping the base of his cock. “I want to fuck you.”

“Thought you’d never ask…” I loved sex with Coleman. It was sexy and fun, and I could actually laugh without offending him. So I did just that as I flipped over and stuck my ass up. By that time, I was seriously hard again.

Coleman didn’t waste time. He grabbed the lube and used his finger to get it in my hole. He didn’t do a lot of stretching, but I didn’t need it. As soon as he had the condom on, grumping about using them, he stuck his cock in. He slapped my ass again and started fucking me the way I liked it.

This position let him hit my prostate more often and harder than the old missionary, but I also didn’t get to see him. I loved his cum-face, but I couldn’t complain the way he nailed my spot, and I shook as I came without even touching my dick. That rarely happened, but between my lack of sex when we were apart and maybe how relaxed the pot from earlier made me, it didn’t take much.

Coleman made a weird noise that meant he was trying not to orgasm. That would not do. I tightened my ass and laughed maniacally. “No holding back, sexy.”

He grunted, came, and leaned over me. I felt his face press against my back, between my shoulder blades. “Jack, I love you.”

“Fuck, Cole. You play dirty.”

He slid off of me, and I flopped on my back. Of course he leaned over me, looking into my face. “That’s your name, right?”

I gave him a quick nod and squinched my eyes shut. “Nobody calls me that. I mean, other than you, the last people to call me by my real name were my biological family. And they’re all shitheads.”

“What do you mean?”

I did not want to talk about this. My family? Those people who go by Braswell were fucking crazy. “My parents did the whole kick me out cuz gay thing. But when Hunt hit it big, suddenly they want me back? Imagine that.”

“Woah. I did not know that.” I didn’t see pity in his eyes. Only understanding and concern.

The only other person in the world I felt I could be open with was Miami, and I’d never told him this. Only that I didn’t get along with them. Miami Hunt was my family, and when we were broken up, I drowned myself in dope and alcohol. But maybe that could change. “My sister, Livia or Liv. She was cool, you know, and she wanted to get to know me. For me. But she’s crazy fucked up too. She’s in an arranged marriage, for crying out loud, and her husband, the pastor, wanted nothing to do with me and my devil music.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Arranged marriage?”

I nodded. “I told you. They’re all crazy. I mean. I’m crazy, right, but not crazy like that.”

Coleman flopped on his back with a huff. “You’re not crazy. Just fun-loving.”

“No. Not really. I think I’m bat-shit crazy. I just hide it better.” Not to mention all the self-medicating. But I didn’t want to bring that up, either.

“Zig…” Thankfully, he was back to the nickname. When Miami had originally thought of all of us going by the nicknames, I thought it was fucking brilliant. “I want to make this better for you, but I don’t know how.”

“I don’t think you can.” I had noodled over that for a long time in my past and eventually came up with the only solution. “I don’t have anything to do with them. And they don’t bug me. I think they call it compartmentalizing. Yeah. Whatever. It works.”

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if that’s healthy, but I get it.”

“What’s your family like?”

“Normal. Well, for Californian people. My folks are hippy throwbacks, but I had a good childhood, and I still talk to them. I don’t see them much.”

“Why not?” Now, I sat up and leaned over him. “I think if I had folks that were cool, I’d be there all the fucking time, man.” His gold-specked eyes flickered. “What are you thinking?”

“They live in California, and I live…” He laughed, but it was forced, and not happy at all. “I live everywhere. But when I’m not traveling around, I have a house in Colorado.”

“Yeah, I knew you lived in Denver, but you’re always with me. I kind of assumed you had a place in Miami, too.” I’d never been to either. When we were in Florida, he always came to mine.

He shook his head. “No. I did a short-term rental on a condo when you were recording.” He looked sad, but before I could ask him what was up with that. He jumped up. “Oh shit. We have to get to the airport.”

“Didn’t you book a private jet? They’ll wait for us.”

“Yes, but you still have obligations and a soundcheck to get to.”

I was one hundred percent not worried about that. “Eh. If I don’t get there, I totally trust Simon to get it set up.”

“That’s not the point.”

Whether it was or not, under Coleman’s command, we picked up clothes, packed them, got dressed, and rushed out. Coleman called for the car on the way down the elevator.