Counterpoint Page 2

  Adrian eyed Dominic. What would a young man with such discerning taste in literature prefer?

  Those dark eyes stared back at Adrian.

  “Lemon meringue, I think,” Adrian murmured.

  Shock colored Dominic’s face. “How did you—”

  “Two forks?” the waitress asked.

  “No,” Adrian said. “One will be enough.”

  And maybe he was laying it on a little thick, because even she blushed. When she left, he studied Dominic again. He took a breath, as if to steady himself. “Lemon meringue’s my favorite. Like—absolute favorite.”

  “I’d make some joke about being a little tart—but that’s not why you like it, right?” Because Dominic had layers. Adrian wanted to peel them all off and find out what lay beneath. How did those lips feel against his? What would his moans taste like? Just the thought made him ache.

  “It’s—I love lemon. And yes, because they’re tart. But no, that’s not all. They’re—They taste like summer and sun and freedom.” Dominic’s gaze drifted to the doorway again—to look outside, Adrian realized. “They’re happiness in fruit form.”

  Yes, layers. And no, not a one-night stand. Not this one. “You write lyrics, too?”

  Dominic seemed to startle out of his skin. “What? No. I—” He laughed, but it was strained. “I just play guitar. Help a little with the songs. Other people are so much better with words than me.” He patted the book beside him.

  “And what kind of music do you play?”

  Dominic raised an eyebrow, and there was a little spark of fire there. Very nice indeed. “What do you do outside work, Adrian?”

  That was fair. Entirely fair. And he did like the sound of his name on Dominic’s lips.

  Their waitress came and dropped off a sizable piece of pie—with one fork. It was a beautiful thing, lovely shade of yellow with snow-white meringue curled and browned a tiny bit on top.

  “Oh.” Dominic’s voice was almost reverent. “That’s sublime.”

  So was the look on that sweet face. Right there and then—if this went further than today—Adrian would make it his mission to have Dominic sigh like that again, preferably while Adrian’s cock was inside him. Wouldn’t that be magnificent?

  Adrian cut off the tip of the pie with the side of the fork, and watched Dominic bite his lip. “Sometimes I go to clubs and dance.” He speared the piece with the tines and lifted. “Throw myself into a crowd of people and...let go.”

  Dominic’s gaze slipped from the fork and met Adrian’s. “Love to see that.”

  “I’m sure you would.” He held out the morsel of pie to Dominic.

  Oh, those wide eyes. He scooted closer and took what Adrian offered so gently. Wet lips. Pink tongue. And when the pie slid into Dominic’s mouth, his eyes fluttered shut—and that was utterly sublime, too, down to the little whimper.

  “God, it’s so good.” A whisper of words.

  Adrian needed this man in his bed. More than once. More than twice. As many times as possible. Someone who moved like that, ate like that, submitted like that—Adrian’s head whirled. He took a bite of the pie himself—and yes, it was quite lovely. The custard was perfect, and somehow it did taste like a sunny summer day.

  “I also like walks in the park. Museums. The orchestra. History.” Adrian sliced off another piece for Dominic. “And reading.” This time he held the piece closer, and patted the space between them. “Are you willing?”

  The answer must have been yes, because Dominic closed that gap and their legs brushed against each other. Laughter in that sweet face.

  With his free hand, he touched Dominic’s thigh lightly. “This okay?”

  “More than. Thank you for asking.”

  Well, he wasn’t about to feel up a man without consent. That was just rude.

  When he fed the pie to Dominic this time, Adrian slid his hand up until he met the hard ridge of an erect cock.

  The groan was deeper this time.

  “Summer memories?” Adrian left his hand exactly where it was, but moved his finger enough to rub so slightly against that length.

  Watching Dominic swallow was a treat. His chuckle was unexpectedly deep. “I practically grew up at the Jersey Shore. Lots of memories of lemon and sunscreen and—” He blushed.

  “Sucking guys off under the boardwalk?”

  The blush deepened. “Well, yes—and other things, too.”

  Adrian took his bite of pie and shifted his hand up, cupping Dominic’s hard dick. He felt more than heard the inhale of breath. When he held out Dominic’s piece, he slid fingers around the ridge. “You’re a fascinating man, Dominic. What do you do for fun?”

  This time, the bite was sensual, as was the way Dominic licked the custard off the fork. “Me?” His smile was wicked, and he pressed his shaft into Adrian’s hand and leaned in close to whisper, “I seduce men and let them fuck me.”

  Yes. That was blindingly obvious. Adrian couldn’t help the smile. “And how do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m hard as a rock from being fed lemon pie. You tell me.”

  Right. That was enough of that. He set down the fork, cupped the side of Dominic’s lovely face, and drew him into a kiss.

  The tart of the lemon mixed with the richness of wine and the sweet, sweet taste of unashamed need. Dominic kissed with a lovely mix of desperation and determination, and no, this wasn’t his first rodeo. Not by a long shot. Adrian tightened his grip on Dominic’s cock and kissed back with just enough force to impart one simple fact: he—not Dominic—would be in control.

  And like perfection, Dominic melted and opened to him, giving way to lips and tongue. After a few more moments enjoying that little taste of submission, Adrian relented. “There’s still more pie.” And they were still sitting in a bar, one that had a few patrons trickling in. He wasn’t about to go any further than that.

  A shudder ran through Dominic. “That might undo me.”

  “Good.” Adrian sat back. He slid his hand from Dominic’s package. “Something tells me you need to be undone.”

  An almost knowing chuckle. “Probably.”

  He broke the remaining portion in two, eating his half before scooping up what was left. “Do you want more than this?”

  Dominic eyed the pie. “We’re not talking about lemon meringue anymore, are we?”

  Perceptive. Adrian did like that in men—especially ones he wanted more than one night from. “No.” He studied the pie, then Dominic. “I’m enjoying this—enjoying you—immensely. And I think I’d be rather disappointed if this night ended with a quick fuck and a goodbye. I’d like to get to know you, Dominic. Know you better than one evening permits.”

  Dominic didn’t even look at the pie. “To be honest with you, I haven’t tried anything more than one night with anyone in a very long time.”

  “That’s somewhat of a shame.”

  “Is it?” Dominic’s raised eyebrow and fire were back.

  Oh, to draw that out and then quench it in turn. “Well, I find that learning about what a partner wants and needs takes time. You’re a musician—you know what they say about practicing... How are you supposed to perfect pleasure if you only ever get one shot at it?”

  Dominic’s smile was replaced with something more profound.

  “And I’m also quite interested in what’s behind those pretty eyes of yours. You’re an intelligent man and I suspect there’s a lot more you do for fun besides being fucked.”

  “You’re the first person who’s ever thought I had pretty eyes.” He flicked his gaze to the pie. “Maybe we should save that last bite for later, then.”

  “Be a shame to waste it. How about you finish the pie and meet me here next Wednesday at six if you want something a little longer than one night?”

  Dominic cocked his head ever so slightly, then nodded. “Deal.�
��

  Adrian slipped the last of the pie into that luscious mouth, and the sight was just as spectacular as the first bite.

  When they were done, the waitress cleared their tables and brought them their checks.

  “I feel like I should pay for half of yours,” Dominic murmured, his cheeks once again a little red.

  “Oh, you treated me in the sharing.”

  A chuckle. “I do try.”

  They rose and made their way out to the sidewalk, and Dominic fidgeted for a second. “Look. I think I do want more than a quick—” He waved his hand and swallowed. “Sometimes my schedule is...erratic. Can I get your number, just in case I need to reschedule or—something?”

  Poor Dominic, so flustered at not being dragged off for a nice uncomplicated hookup. “Of course.”

  They exchanged numbers, then Adrian drew that blushing man in for a kiss. Once more it took only a hint of control to soften Dominic in his arms. And yes, poor thing was still all nice and hard.

  Adrian broke the kiss. “If you end up liking the Saul book, I can recommend some others to you.”

  Oh, the lust and interest in Dominic’s eyes—and not just for sex. “Can you?”

  “Mmmhmm. Wednesday. Dinner and book recommendations.”

  “And more?”

  Dominic was breathless, so Adrian drew him close again, cupping that nice hard cock again. “I promise that part of more will be worth the wait.”

  A laugh, as if Dominic couldn’t believe what he was doing. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

  Good. Very, very, very good.

  Chapter Two

  Sunday morning, and Dom was in hell. Well, he was actually just south of Hell’s Kitchen, in Chelsea, in a practice and recording studio trying desperately to get into the groove of playing. The weight of his guitar felt foreign against his shoulder, the strings too rough against his fingers, and his head still rotated around and around images of Adrian Doran.

  He’d been so hot and horny and still fucking hard when he’d gotten home on Saturday night. Spent a good part of that night jacking off to memories of Adrian’s voice and smile. And that should have been enough, should have burnt the man out of his system.

  But it hadn’t. Not with his number in Dom’s phone. Not with plans for Wednesday.

  He was most definitely not Domino Grinder today, and that was a huge problem.

  It was no wonder he flubbed the chords in “Finding Light” each time they tried to run through the song. It was a tricky transition, but one he was normally up for. After all, he’d played harder songs. Hell, he could play freaking guitar concertos on the instrument in his hands. But not at the moment. Might as well be a newbie plucking at the strings for the first time.

  The song skidded to a halt mid-chorus, and silence descended on the studio.

  “Dom, what the hell?” Ray slapped his hand against his thigh, his frustration so evident. “What’s going on with you?”

  Shit, yeah, he’d really fucked that up. His head wasn’t in the right place. Too much Dominic and not enough Domino, all because Adrian’s voice still echoed in his ear. “Sorry—I—Sorry.” He turned away and plucked a chord, ostensibly tuning, though he’d done that several times already.

  He heard rather than saw Ray’s sigh and curse.

  Mish caught Dom’s eye, her arms cradling her upright bass. “Hon, it’s okay. We all have off days.”

  This wasn’t an off day, this was—he didn’t even know what this was. He didn’t feel like himself. Well, he did, just the wrong version. Dominic Bradley wasn’t a rock star, but he couldn’t get out of that skin and into Domino, the persona who was.

  Zav thumped a little roll on the high tom. “Why don’t we take a little break?”

  “Yeah, maybe that’s for the best,” Ray said. When Dom turned back, Ray was watching him. “We need you here, Dom. I need you here.”

  His oldest friend. His best friend. And he was letting the whole band down. “I know. Let me get some coffee in me and get my head back on.” He unshouldered his guitar and set it in its stand. Fresh air—he needed that, too. So he poured a cup of coffee from the carafe that had been delivered with the snacks and headed to the open window.

  He wasn’t even surprised when Zavier joined him. Pretty common, really, during breaks. They both liked air and contemplation.

  But that wasn’t in the queue for today, it seemed.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Zavier leaned against the wall, his black tank top still pristine. Not even a drop of sweat. They hadn’t been playing long enough to warrant a break.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just—” Dom waved his arm. “I’m fine.”

  A wry chuckle. “Dom...”

  Damn Zavier, because he knew. Somehow, the man knew something was up. Zav had this way of reading people and was so damn fucking sensible most of the time. Then again, he had married Ray, who wore his heart on his sleeve and buried his problems behind fear, so one of those two had to be the grounded one.

  Zavier was so grounded, it was a wonder he didn’t grow roots with each step.

  Dom glanced back at their leader. Ray was a hell of a lot better emotionally and temper-wise, which was good, since Dom had never been this shitty of a guitarist before. A year and a half ago, a flub like that from Dom would have caused chaos in the band. They’d been under such pressure, between a band manager out to get them, a horrible label, and a grueling tour as the opening act for one of the best bands in the country. They’d all learned how to rely on one another during those months, and Zavier, their new drummer, had become family and Ray’s greatest ally.

  Now he was Ray’s husband.

  Dom took a drink of coffee and pondered how much to say. Finally, he let it slip. “I met someone yesterday.”

  Zavier’s eyebrows lifted, but his expression didn’t change. “A professor in tweed?”

  Dom grunted. Yeah, that was his normal candy. Maybe that’s why Adrian threw him so much. “No, a computer engineer who’d taken off a tie and a suit jacket.”

  “Oh.” Amusement crept into Zavier’s voice. “Did you have fun?”

  Yes, but he’d had more than that. He’d been excited and turned on and...curious. Who was Adrian? What had he thought of the book Dom’d been reading? Which museums did he like? Dom wanted more of Adrian, and that was rare. Maybe it was because they hadn’t fucked.

  You know it’s not.

  Zavier was quiet and watchful, and his smile had fallen into seriousness.

  More coffee didn’t do a damn thing for Dom’s nerves. Likely made things worse. “He fed me lemon meringue pie, felt me up, kissed me, then asked me to dinner this Wednesday.”

  “A date?” Zavier’s brow crinkled. “That’s unusual.”

  Yeah, it was for Dom. He pretty much only did one-night stands. He rolled his shoulders, and found his cheeks heating. “Domino Grinder doesn’t go on dates.”

  “Domino doesn’t whip out his dick at all,” Zavier said. “That’s not the image you take out when you go hunting while on tour. Domino isn’t a thirst-trap for toppy intellectuals.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. “But you are. And you like this man. Enough to see him again.”

  Fucking perceptive Zavier Demos. “I hardly know the guy. I just—” Couldn’t stop thinking about Adrian. That voice, the touch. His approval. What it would feel like when those hands were finally on his naked skin. “I have to focus on this.” He gestured at their instruments. “Ray’s right. I need to be here.” Not daydreaming about Adrian bending him over or his book recommendations.

  A nod. “Yeah, I get it. How can we help?”

  See, now that was exactly why Zavier had been the right drummer for Twisted Wishes and the right man for volatile Ray Van Zeller. He cared. Tried to find solutions. Didn’t get riled up easily.

  Dom snorted
. “You have a way to get my head into Domino? ’Cause that’s where I need to be.” Not stuck in an endless loop of twink Dominic. He needed that edge, that chaos.

  Zavier got that damn grin of his, the fucking bastard. “I might.” He pushed off the wall. “Hey, Ray? Mish?”

  It was always a little amazing to watch Ray turn and see Zavier. The two had been married more than a year now, and though they weren’t particularly outgoing with their affection, every time Ray met Zavier’s gaze, there was this little catch of breath, a little hint of happy surprise.

  “Yeah?” Ray said. His gaze lingered on Zavier, shifted to Dom, then swung back. Mish cocked her head.

  “Do you think we could warm up with ‘Dark Dreams’ or ‘Lightning’ or one of the older songs before working on the new ones?” Zavier said.

  Oh. A little jolt ran through Dom. Yeah, that might work. He knew those, knew how to be Domino when playing those. Hell, even thinking about the rhythms and the notes and how the stage felt on tour, how he’d held his guitar in his hands, that had him shifting and straightening his back. Muscle memory, and more. The knowledge of who he was when he played those songs. Domino was part of that music—and Dom was Domino.

  Ray eyed Dom again. “Would that help?”

  “Yeah.” He drank down the rest of the coffee, then tossed the cup in the nearest trash can. “Yeah, it would. You mind?”

  “Whatever you need, hon,” Mish said.

  “Shit, dude. What Mish said.” Ray ran a hand through his hair. “I guess it has been a while.”

  A couple weeks since they’d last played together, partly because Dom had finally found a place to buy. He’d had to get all his shit out of storage and move it up to New York, sort through it, chuck half of the stuff, and buy all new crap that actually matched the place.

  Then there’d been all the meetings with their new label and all the legal wrangling to settle on a contract that wouldn’t screw them over. They’d ended up hiring a band manager with a legal background, and after that, Ray had wanted to get started on the new album, so here they were. They’d just started on the new songs during their tiny makeup tour to cover the cities they’d missed when the end of their original tour had been canceled.