He offered his hands out.Sami regarded them.His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he allowed Baz to pull him close again.Thank god.Baz mentally filed work undertouchy subject.
“Don’t worry about me.I don’t deserve it.”
“Don’t be silly.What can I do to help?”There had to be something.He was no Aya, but he did know some people in the legal world who could offer Sami a better job.The bar was on the floor.
Sami’s fingers dug into his shoulders.He shifted onto his toes.“Right now, I just want to forget.”
With pleasure.He bridged the gap between their lips.Sami welcomed him with gentle movements.The flick of his tongue sent a bolt of electricity through Baz, quick and intense, from his mouth all the way to his knees.That was more like the Sami he knew.
Baz ran his hands down Sami’s side; he squatted and grabbed Sami’s thighs, hoisting him onto his hips.Sami’s adorable yelp as he wrapped his legs around Baz’s hips went straight to Baz’s heart.The surprise melted into a disbelieving laugh.
Much better.
Baz would be damned if he didn’t manage to magic that cocky smirk back onto Sami’s sunny face.
Chapter thirteen
Bazdecidedhisturnmeant he was in charge of everything, and therefore, he had every right to put on some music—smooth jazz—for ambience.He’d take his timedistractingSami in every way he knew how.
He dug his fingers into the points of tension in Sami’s back and neck, teased him with sipping kisses across his body until that giggle Baz had grown to like a little too much chimed through the bedroom.
He didn’t even care about finishing, only that he elicited as many noises of pleasure from Sami as possible.
Something strange happened after; Sami didn’t move away from him.No, as soon as Baz had cleaned them up, he shuffled closer and rested his head on Baz’s bicep, chest still heaving.The glow in his eyes had returned, though he still looked vulnerable.So… real.
Baz couldn’t shake the feeling this was the first time he truly saw Sami—not his performance of a cocky, self-assured Don Juan, buthim.
The thought made his heart skip a beat.
“If you ever want to talk about what upset you, you could,” Baz whispered.The moment was too tender to crush with voices louder than the saxophone treating them to a sensual downtempo.
He hadn’t registered the circles his finger was drawing on Sami’s side, just above the comforter bunching at his hips, until Sami glided his palm underneath his.He lifted their hands as if to compare sizes—Baz’s fingers overshot his by a knuckle—before his fingers melted into the gaps.
“How are we supposed to stay mysterious strangers if I go and tell you about my life?”
“Is that what we are?”
Sami didn’t feel like a stranger, not anymore.This version of him, Baz felt he had known forever.
Yes, Sami was—had been?—a drug dealer, and for whatever reason, he now worked for Ian, with seemingly no intention of stopping even though he hated it.But he was also soft.Warm.Baz had given him so many reasons to dislike him, and here he was, still.Listening.Judging.Laughing.
Baz hadn’t laughed this much in years.
“What do you prefer to call it?Frivalswith benefits?Ooh, enemies tillla petit mort?”Sami wiggled his eyebrows.
“What?”Baz chuckled.
“That’s what French poets call an orgasm because they think every climax saps a fraction of your life away.Weird, right?”
Yeah.Just as weird as the person knowing all these arbitrary facts and his adorable delight in sharing them with Baz.What a privilege that was.
“You’re so dramatic,” Baz said.
“Just another reason to hate me.You’re welcome.”
There was a heartbreaking fragility in Sami’s gaze that made Baz ache with all kinds of things he shouldn’t want, like to hold Sami in his arms all night.To kiss his forehead.To make him a coffee in the morning and cuddle in bed while they watched the city wake up underneath them.
“I do hate you…”
