Kai is, going by his noises, lost in good feelings. He’s such a taciturn person, which makes it tremendously exciting when you get him wound up enough in bed that he moans for you. It’s not every single time, but he’s doing it now, keening and sighing as you hit his spot on every stroke. It feels as good for you as it evidently does for him, which is why you could be excused for being a little selfish and just focusing on howgodgoodfuckamazinghis body feels, his hole blood-hot and snug around your length. He’s clenching down on you with every thrust, and you can feel his skin slick with sweat against yours. His calf against your body, tightening and flexing.
“Ster,” Kai chokes, and you open your eyes just in time to see a singular sight: him coming on his belly, his cock completely untouched. You have been known to do that from time to time, but you’ve never seen it happen to him. His lips are parted, his forehead shining as he spurts straight up to his ribcage, his body contorting in sweet agony.
“Oh my god,” you curse, your tongue thick. He’s gone boneless, lax and spent with pleasure, and his heel hooked on your shoulder is heavy, pressing you down into the mattress. You wouldn’t have lasted much longer after watching him come, regardless, but having seen what you did to him takes you right to the edge. You pull out, shoving his leg to the side. Dick in hand, you aim for his tight belly, and soon your own cum joins his, painting his abdomen. You are breathing like a barreling train, your lips tingling where you didn’t realize you were biting them. Your fist is still around your root as you stare dumbly down at him. He’s absolutely covered with cum. It’s hot and a little gross. You are careful to avoid the mess as you lean down to take his mouth, kissing him at length.
Eventually, you flop down onto the mattress, fully ready for a nap. Which may be the reason why, just to be contrary, Kai jumps up like a fucking jack-in-the-box and, with a stretch that spreads his seriously impressive wingspan almost completely over the width of the bed, announces that you should get dressed while he takes a quick shower.
“I want a few of those egg things,” he says, sounding disgustingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
***
You only saw so much of the Valverde Sintra Palácio de Seteais while checking in late last night; you’ve barely explored theRoyal Suite you are occupying. Really taking in the hotel, which is a converted Moorish palace in the midst of a UNESCO World Heritage Site, proves to be jaw-dropping. The oil paintings, deep Oriental rugs, and polished mahogany furniture are all unbelievably sumptuous. Coming down the staircase, which is carpeted in a yellow runner with gilded banisters and sweeps from both directions down the back of the great hall, you can see the green foothills of the Sintra Mountains in the distance. Hand tucked in Kai’s arm, you make it to the dining room, and are glad that you put a modicum of attention into your appearance. The atmosphere is very formal, with a harpist in the corner and tall, ornate displays of greenery adorning the corners and center of the long, narrow room. The ivory wallpaper is hand-painted, and the tables, draped in white cloths that brush the floor, are set with crystal and bone china.
People sneak a second glance at you two, but this crowd is too rich and European to drop their facade of genteel ennui. It’s a pleasant change from normal, being able to eat in public, but you don’t ever let your guard down completely. Your security staff might be just off-site, but they are only a few minutes away. And Kai is circumspect enough to drop his voice and speak in riddles as you tuck into your (truly extraordinary) cheese tart with a hint of cinnamon.
“How are the 4th of July fireworks coming?” he asks. For his part, he’s ordered two full meals—migas with grilled filet, fresh fruit and yogurt, eggs, and, of course, pasteis de nata—and is currently switching between bites of everything, and washing it down with both orange juice and sweet, milky coffee. You almost want to laugh, both at the ravenous post-coital appetite of your husband-to-be, and also at the code name for your 10th album, which will be a surprise midnight drop in early July, less than two months from now.
“They are going great,” you say. “I don’t know that anything has changed in the last week. The packaging is finalized, and the tracklist is carved in stone, obviously. No vinyl pressings just yet, because that’s a potential leak point. Half of Indigo doesn’t even know about it. Strictly on a need-to-know basis. This is normally when the press cycle would be in full bloom, but, of course, there’s none of that. It’s kind of freeing.” You take a bite of your tart. “I’m alsokind ofgetting nervous.”
Kai raises his eyebrow. “It’s double. Double fireworks, I mean. People are going to lose their minds. I’ve heard it. It’s a freaking work of art.”
He’s right. About the length, anyway. Your tenth album will have 38 tracks. You have been so productive in the studio sinceGoldenwas released that narrowing it down to even that number was challenging, but you feel confident that you picked the songs that told a story. Despite Zhayvia’s jokes, it is not, in fact, calledMusic to Fuck To. Not only are the songs notallhorny, but you also found a title that you are in love with:Always Remember This.Letting Kai listen to it (letting anyone listen to it) was one of the most vulnerable things you’ve ever brought yourself to do, but you found that you actually loved his feedback. It was a big step, but it seems like these days are just full of those. Which brings you to your next topic of conversation.
“Have you thought anymore about what we discussed?” you ask tentatively. “On the plane?”
“Before or after we went to the bedroom and didn’t come back out? We discuss a lot,” he says, chuckling.
“The names,” you press.
“Oh.” He pauses, his fork hovering over his plate. “I’mextremelysure about it. It’s you that I worry about.”
“Me?” you ask, surprised. “I’m the one who suggested it.”
“I know,” he says. “I just feel like you have a bigger decision to make than me.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” you say. “But, regardless, yes. It’s what I want.”
“Then I guess we’d better make up our minds about those details that Maeve wants,” he says. “Lots of moving pieces to coordinate.”
Always Remember Thiswill be momentous, not just because it’s your tenth album, and not because it’s so long, but because it will be the last work you release under the moniker Sterling Grayson. You and Kai are changing your last names together. Going forward, the surnameGrayhartwill be on his jersey and your albums. The Graylings can keep their fandom name, and your albums will still be filed together in record stores. It was still a huge decision. As two people with public-facing careers, normally, you’d change your name in private and maintain your stage name. It’s a commitment you both want to make that’s symbolic of your faith in your relationship and each other. But the process has you all freaked out. Neither of you can legally change your names until you get married. You can’t get married until you have a time and place, and have settled on the wedding party, picked colors, drawn up a guest list with hundreds of friends, family, and professional associates, and made what feels like a thousand stupid decisions. You have always been a busy person, but, even for you, the stress is crushing.
“I can hear you thinking from over here,” Kai says. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“Ugh. It’s nothing,” you say. “Same old stuff. 4th of July fireworks and that big party we’re supposed to be planning.”
Kai rolls his eyes. “Ughis right.”
“Enough about that,” you declare briskly. “It’s our anniversary. What do you want to do today?”
“What are our options?”
“We’re supposed to be having lunch in the Monserrate Gardens,” you say, “but that isn’t for a few hours. We have a tour guide on retainer that is going to show us around the castles and monasteries. It’s a beautiful day for that. I figured we’d get a car back into Lisbon for dinner. How does all that sound?”
“It sounds nice,” he says casually. He pauses for a moment, picking at his plate thoughtfully. “You really stuck on those plans?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“What time is it in New York right now?”
