They’re Mike’s people, and I can tell. They have the same warmth he does. The same openness that he has. They heard Mike get up there and sing that song for me, and they don’t seem to have a single problem with it.
The guitarist with the tattoos comes in from wherever he went, dropping into the armchair in the corner without a word to anyone. He’s got a beer, and that vibe of someone who thinks everyone is beneath them. His eyes land on me once, assessing briefly, before moving on to scowl at Zara.
“Trent’s my ex,” Zara says, nodding toward him. “Kind of an asshole, but a good guitarist. No one likes him, so don’t feel bad.”
“I didn’t say—”
Mike materializes from the kitchen with drinks, ending whatever I was about to say. He’s still wearing the same clothes from the stage. He looks even better up close.
“Hey,” he says, giving me a beer, and then looking over at Ryan. “You want one?” Ryan takes it with a scowl, but Mike doesn’t care. His gaze is already back on me.
I look at the ceiling.
Zara scoots even closer, resting her chin on her hand. “So, tell us about you. You’ve been living with Mikey for months, and we haven’t even met!”
“Yeah… Sorry about that. I’m not great at—” I gesture vaguely.
“People?” She fills in, and I nod in agreement.
“Well, that’s okay.” She tucks her feet up. “I talk enough for both of us. You just sit there and look pretty. I heard you’re good at that.”
She finishes that off with a wink, and I choke on my beer.
Across the room, Damon laughs. Mike, leaning against the wall, has the decency to look slightly apologetic, but I can tell there’s a smile threatening to break through.
Ryan doesn’t say a single word for the rest of the night.
Everyone leaves late in the night, heading out at the same time, while we wave from the porch. Once the front door is shut behind us, I don’t last two seconds.
Mike turns around, mouth open to say something, but I’m already walking him back into it, my hands on either side of his face, kissing him before he can say a thing. He gasps against my mouth, and it turns into a moan when I press closer.
“That song,” I say, pulling back an inch.
“Yeah?”
I kiss him again in response.
He laughs against my mouth, reaching for my zipper.
“Wait. Here?”
“You started it,” he points out, getting my zipper down and sliding his hand into my boxers. His fingers wrap around me, and I have nothing else to say, dropping my forehead to his shoulder. “
Fuck, you’re already dripping,” he groans, stroking me, his grip rough, but too slow at the same time.
I whimper into his shoulder, zero control over anything that comes out of my mouth after being this pent up all night. “Please, I need more.”
He stills.
I lift my head to tell him to keep going, but he’s looking at me with wide eyes, and I almost think I did something wrong. But then he drops to his knees.
He takes me into his mouth right in the entryway, and my head falls back. I don’t try to be quiet. I can’t. When I look back down, he’s watching me with those blue eyes surrounded by black eyeliner, and his hair is falling forward with every movement. His pink lips stretched around me. He looks—
“Fuck,” I breathe out. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He moans, the vibration going through my entire body. It makes my hips shift forward involuntarily.
He pulls back and looks up at me, wrecked even though he’s still dressed. “Fuck my throat.”
