Jean Haus - With the Band

Leaning forward, he brushes his lips against my ear. “Playing games, Peyton?” he asks, and the rush of hot breath into my ear sends lust tingling over my skin.

I push at his hard chest. “Trying to order me around by text?”

He nibbles at my ear. “No need now. We’re on a couch.”

A laugh does escape me. Obviously, he has thought about couches and us too.

“Shh,” he whispers near my mouth. “Can’t wake Gary.”

His lips hover millimeters from mine, and Gary, games, and everything but sensations are forgotten.

After dragging his lips across mine, he kisses the corner of my mouth, tracing a thumb along the line of my neck. He nips at my lower lip, then sucks on it before kissing the other corner of my mouth as his fingers follow the line of my collarbone.

The touch of both his lips and fingers fills me with breathless anticipation. My hands twine in his curls and grasp his head as I try to catch his lips for a full kiss. He chuckles, then traces my upper lip with his tongue.

“Sam,” I groan in frustration. I’ve never wanted a kiss so bad. I’m practically salivating with want, aching for his mouth to cover mine.

“Thought you liked games?” he murmurs, then runs his lips along the curve of my chin as he tips my jaw back with his thumbs. His wet mouth traces a path down my neck. I gasp. He chuckles. The hand holding my jaw shifts and his thumb rubs across my bottom lip in a soft, teasing caress. “Paybacks are hell, right?” he asks against the skin of my neck before he gently sucks.

Recalling saying those words to him in his apartment, I release his curls, push at his chest, and twist my body until he flops over.

Grinning, he wriggles his eyebrows.

I smile wickedly. Now that we’ve switched positions, he has no idea what he’s in for. I’m a dessert maker. I know how to wait and let things rise. “Oh, I like games,” I say, grabbing the hands on my thighs and holding them to his chest.

His grin dwindles and his eyelids lower as I settle myself on his lap.

I drop kisses along the line of his jaw and the strained cord of his neck while my free hand slips under his shirt. My palm traces the hard curve of his chest as my tongue traces the curve of his ear. His taste is like the best dessert, fresh out of the oven.

His chest rises in a deep breath, and it’s very, very hard not to kiss him. Instead, I kiss along the curve of his cheekbone and over the bridge of his nose to the other cheek while my palm rubs circles across his ridged abdomen. When my hand gets to the waistband of his jeans, I trail a finger across the skin above at the same time my tongue trails across the seam of his lips.

A moaning sound comes out of Sam, from deep within, and before I can blink, I’m on my back, his body pressing mine into the couch. The kiss is explosive, his mouth demanding against mine, his tongue delving. My fingers pull him closer.

When the main door bangs, Sam lifts his head. Our breath is heavy as we both listen.

“Screw you!” Justin says, laughing from the other room, and my hands instantly let go of Sam’s curls and start pushing at his chest.

He smirks at me.

“Sam!” I whisper, shoving harder.

He slowly pulls himself away, and once I’m free, I scoot to the end of the couch.

And just in time too, because a second later, the vinyl curtain opens and Gabe pokes his head into the room. “Thought you two might be in here,” he says, grinning. “Romeo’s still looking for you guys inside.” He pulls out his phone and starts tapping on it, doubtlessly texting Romeo. “I told him you were probably on the bus.” He glances up. “I expected you to be sucking face or something else,” he says with a smirk.

Lucky for me and my burning cheeks, the room is shadowed except for the soft glow of the computer screen.

Sam whips a pillow at Gabe. “Go away, asshole!”

Lifting an arm to deflect the pillow, Gabe asks in an incredulous tone, “You’re not playing?” He’s referring to their habitual after-show video games when we’re on the bus.

Sam shakes his head. “Nope. I’m hanging back here.”

“Of course you are.” Gabe rolls his eyes at us and takes off.

“I don’t mind if you want to go play,” I say nonchalantly.

Sam looks at me like I’ve lost my mind as he scoots closer. “I’ve been playing stupid video games for weeks, imagining you back here in various stages of seminakedness.” He grips the bottom of my shirt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My hands cover his. “They’ll be no stages of nakedness.” I push his hand away. “Not with three other guys roaming free on the bus.”

Sam stares at me for a long moment, then looks around the small room. “All right, how about some TV?”

“Sure,” I say, leaning back into the couch cushions. But once he turns on the TV, he unfolds the blankets, throws the pillows on the far end of the couch, yanks me to his chest, and wraps us up—then we lie down together.

“Sam,” I say, trying to disentangle myself, fearful of Gabe popping in again.

He holds me tight. “Forget it, Peyton. If we can’t do the sucking stuff—” He pauses at the elbow jab I give his ribs. He catches my earlobe and sucks on it. “Unless you want to do the sucking stuff?” he asks, his teeth lightly scraping my skin.

“Stop it,” I say, trying to elbow him again as he pulls me closer.

His lips release my earlobe. “Then let me hold you.”

“Gabe’s going to come back here again.”

“Who gives a shit about Gabe?”

Blinking up at him, I realize he has a point. Though it’s a bit weird cuddling with him while the guys are up front playing video games, I let him tuck me against his chest. He just holds me and within seconds, I relax.

He flicks through channels and nuzzles my neck intermittently, which is quite nice. The bus starts rolling, and my eyelids grow heavy.

Warm and content, I realize I could happily fall asleep like this every night.

The next afternoon, Sam’s head lies on a pillow next to my thighs. I’m hunched over the computer on the couch, typing in a post. If I weren’t working, my lap would be Sam’s pillow. My elbow knocks into the book he’s reading. Instead of bitching, he adjusts the book from above his face to over his chest.

“Sorry,” I say, clicking open a picture file from the previous night.

He shrugs and keeps reading.

I’ve noticed Sam can block out the world when he reads. Like totally. The guys could be next to him shouting and playing video games, or Gabe and Justin could be in a heated argument, or a volcano could erupt. Sam would keep reading.

I look him over as he reads with his curly head on the pillow. He’s in one of his plain white T-shirts, baggy worn shorts, and a flip-flop teeters from his foot at the end of the couch. His chest rises with a slight shake. He does this often. Obviously, he’s reading another “funny” book.

An obnoxious thought enters my head as I watch him read. Don’t do it, Peyton! my conscience yells. If he ignores me, my ego might read too much into his dismissal, but my wayward fingers have already dug into his curls. My thumb brushes at his temple. My other hand moves to his jaw and caresses his scruff.

For several seconds, he continues to read, until he finally glances up, his lips forming a soft smile. “You bored?”

I shake my head.

“You done?”

I shake my head.

“You need a little attention?”

I smile slightly.

He carefully sets the book on the couch and lifts up on an elbow, reaching up behind my neck. He pulls me down gently. The kiss is soft, sweet, and filled with longing.

“Damn,” he whispers against my lips, “I’m starting to hate this bus.”