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  Ayla grabbed Oz’s arm to yank him close. “If you kiss your date like you used to kiss Papi, does that mean Papi can’t come visit anymore?”

  “No, sweetie. Papi can still come visit.”

  “But Uncle Marcus—”

  Oz hadn’t known Ayla remembered Angela’s husband. Oz’s poor baby had already witnessed way too many departures in her six years.

  “Uncle Marcus had to move to Cleveland for his job.”

  “Is Cleveland farther than Miami where Papi goes sometimes?”

  Oz sat down on the couch and lifted her onto his lap. Regan crawled up to join them.

  “Papi loves you both so much. Sometimes he does go away for work, but he comes back because he loves to see his niñas.”

  “But you and Papi don’t like to kiss anymore?” Ayla persisted.

  “Papi and I are friends. But we aren’t married anymore. Remember?”

  “Do kisses make you married?” Regan asked.

  Ayla sucked her teeth. “Don’t be stup—”

  “Ayla.”

  She huffed, then kissed his cheek. “See, I’m not married to Daddy.” She stuck her tongue out at her sister.

  “People kiss to show that they like someone else. But there are special kisses for someone you like a lot. Just that one person. Uh….” He glanced at the sleeping bag again. “Flynn Rider kind of kisses.”

  Regan nodded. “And you’re kissing Flynn Rider tonight, so we get to sleep with the TV on at Aunt Angle’s.”

  As summaries went, it wasn’t bad. Oz seized it. “Yes.”

  “Will he be in our house?” Ayla wanted to know.

  “No, baby. We’re going to go have dinner in the city, but I’ll be back very late. That’s why you’re sleeping here.”

  “Okay.”

  It felt gravely like permission, and Oz was surprised at how much it relieved him. He hugged them both hard.

  His sister met him at the door as he was leaving. “Thank you so much for that.”

  “Hey, all I said was date.”

  “You couldn’t say something else? Girls’ night?”

  “They need to get used to it, unless you plan to be celibate until you are decades past prime meat. But the kissing bits were all them. You’re the one exposing them to monkey bar shenanigans and torrid Disney romances. I have good, wholesome fare planned.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hair braiding and the Rutgers game.”

  “Ha. Good luck with that.” His princesses did not do sports.

  “Bobby’s only riding the bench, but we can look for him.”

  “Thanks for this, really, Angle.”

  “Hell, I’d have gotten us all a suite somewhere. Anything to see you clear of Joaquín the Jerk.”

  “He’s not a jerk. He’s just—” Oz didn’t feel up to defending Joaquín at the moment. “Do we really want to compare our luck in men?”

  She shrugged. “Marcus’s child support payments never miss a beat.”

  He hugged her.

  She pushed him away. “Go, get laid. Do it for both of us.”

  “Ew. I think that just killed my ability for the next few hours.”

  OZ STOOD outside the hotel room door, checked the number against Jax’s text, and knocked again.

  Jax came running up behind him in the hall. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even supposed to need to go in today.”

  He popped his card into the lock and opened the door to a tiny suite, king bed, and an alcove space with a couch and coffee table. The hotel was fancy enough that Oz had felt the close eyes on him as he walked right to the elevators, but not as upscale as that house Jax had been subletting in Whitestone. Typical for what you could get in Manhattan.

  Jax waved Oz farther in, shutting the door behind them. “I thought for sure I’d beat you here, or I would have texted. But every time I thought we were done—”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Help yourself to anything at the minibar.” Jax ducked into the bathroom.

  Oz glanced at his watch. “We still doing dinner?”

  Jax stuck his head back out. “Yeah. Hope you don’t mind—I was able to switch the reservation—but it’s for ten now.”

  Oz had forgotten how dark Jax’s cheeks got when he was flustered, and the stumbling words reminded Oz of the way Jax stuttered before he came. He caught the edge of the door before Jax shut it again. “Ten, huh? What could two guys do in a hotel room to kill time for three hours?”

  Jax grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  Oz leaned in and kissed him, an action that felt oddly compulsive, something he’d grown accustomed to, seeing that smiling mouth and knowing it was his to kiss. The sweet thrum of energy to his balls from the answering pressure of Jax’s mouth, though, that was something Oz could get comfortable with.

  He cupped Jax’s head, startled by a thick crunch in his hair. Drawing back, he noticed a smudge of darker skin—no, makeup—on Jax’s neck. And he smelled like baby powder.

  Oz dropped his hand.

  Jax’s gaze lowered, lashes long and dark. Damn, he was a beautiful man.

  He blinked and then met Oz’s eyes. “Gimme five minutes.”

  Jax didn’t owe him an explanation, any more than Oz was planning on offering a peek into his private life.

  Still, Oz found it impossible to resist the dry question forming on his lips. That smell. More than just the baby powder. There was something distinctly infant-formula related about it. “Babysitting?”

  “Something like that.” Jax glanced away again. There was hesitation and a question in his voice as he repeated, “Five minutes.”

  Oz smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  After Jax shut the door, Oz stretched out on the bed. Work as a model still seemed a possibility. For baby food? They were wasting their money there. Jax’s body was made to sell way more sexy things. But why the secrecy?

  Oz ran down a list. Drag queen? He thought of Jax’s shoulders. Unlikely.

  Porn star? That would explain a lot. As long as they kept on the safe side of things, there was nothing wrong with that. Though Oz didn’t want to think what kind of connection there could be between porn and infant formula.

  On the other side of the wall, the shower started up. Jax. Water running over the ripple of muscles on his chest, through the cuts on his hips, dripping from his pubes and cock.

  Times like this, thinking—and questions—were seriously overrated. Oz stood and stripped off his slacks and shirt, draping them carefully on a chair. He gave it a couple minutes, then peeled off his shorts and tapped on the bathroom door.

  “Want your back washed?”

  Jax’s chuckle sounded over the water. “I’d love it.”

  Oz opened the door to find Jax stepping out of what was barely large enough to count as a tub instead of a stall shower. Jax would have to fold in half to take a bath in it.

  He scrubbed at his hair with the towel. “But I don’t think we would fit.”

  The rest of Oz’s fantasy was intact, though. The drips over the pecs, dotting the ripples of his abs, and what Oz’s gaze was doing to Jax’s dick. All there to touch and taste. Not locked away on a tiny screen.

  Need drove Oz right to his knees. They’d never have made it to dinner. He wrapped his hands on Jax’s hips and tasted, drank from his skin. Nuzzling Jax’s cock, Oz lapped the water sliding down through the grooves on Jax’s hips.

  He was still soft enough for Oz to get his mouth completely around Jax’s dick, to surround him with heat.

  “Jesus, Oz.” Jax’s voice was high, choked for breath.

  His dick wasn’t starved for blood, though. It lengthened, swelled, pulsed against Oz’s tongue. He dropped his jaw, breathed in through his nose, and held Jax there until he had to back off, leaving him coated in spit, slick and ready for Oz to slide his lips down to the base and back off again.

  “Oh fuck.”

  It seemed like the phone sex had made Jax a hell of a lot more vocal,
and Oz liked it, that sweet voice vibrating around them.

  “Can you—?”

  Oz was already stroking his fingers over Jax’s balls, having learned so much from watching him do it, do himself, all those miles away.

  Jax cradled Oz’s skull, petting, caressing, fingers finding the muscle at the base that made him purr at the touch.

  “God, yes.”

  Oz slid a finger down Jax’s taint, dipping into his damp hole, the barest hint of pressure.

  “Shit, I can’t.” Jax fell back against the edge of the wall creating the toilet cubicle. “’S too fucking good.” His voice slurred like he was drunk.

  Every beat of Oz’s pulse wanted him to drive—no, drag—Jax onto the floor, put him on elbows and knees, and fuck him blind.

  But one thing they seemed to be consistent about was awkward timing and tricky places. Right now the condoms were acres away on the nightstand where Oz had just put them.

  He sat back on his heels. “All those muscles and you can’t stand up?”

  Jax smiled and held down a hand. “Take it as a compliment.”

  “I do.”

  There was no rush and so much Oz wanted to store up from this moment outside of his regular life, but they hadn’t been on the bed for more than a few minutes before Oz was working himself inside Jax’s hot, tugging, squeezing ass.

  They’d only done this twice before, but maybe the phone sex counted for something. It ached with familiarity, and at the same time was as sharp and new to the senses as the first whiff from a fresh box of soap.

  Oz went into Jax with him on his side, raising his leg and watching his dick disappear between the pale cheeks. Shallow strokes, barely rocking, Jax making hungry noises as he tried to keep his eyes open on Oz’s face. He nudged in a bit more, reading the sensation in Jax’s expression.

  Jax licked his lips in invitation.

  Oz settled in, spooning Jax’s back while lifting his thigh, then reached between his legs to play with his balls.

  Jax’s head dropped onto Oz’s shoulder. “Oh God.”

  “Tell me how it feels, like when we’re on the phone.”

  Jax bit his lip. Oz wanted to lick the bite away but couldn’t reach. He held himself still until Jax answered.

  Breath rushing out between the words, Jax managed, “Different. Like this. You’re touching different places. Inside.”

  Oz rocked his hips, flexing his ass to push him deeper and change the angle. He wanted to answer Jax. Tell him how good their bodies fit. How right it was, down to the soles of Oz’s feet. But all he could do was bury his face in Jax’s neck and breathe him in, hips rocking into that amazing friction.

  So sweet like this, a weirdly comforting helpless feeling, like there was something sweeping them along. No need to make decisions as their bodies took care of their needs. But like anything sweet, it got to be too much, saturation point, and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

  Jax rolled at Oz’s shove, both of them gone silent after having nothing but words to connect them. Rising to his knees, he drove in hard and deep. After one shuddering gasp, Jax met him on every stroke, ass slapping back against Oz’s thighs and belly, their balls swinging together.

  They were alone in the race together now. Oz knew Jax could take care of himself, take what he needed, while Oz did the same.

  His heart pounded, blood gathering so hot and sweet and good in his dick, balls tight, pleasure thudding through him, as he rode it out. He wanted to—had to—shoot, but he still needed this—them—to go on longer.

  Jax drove back harder, a muffled yell echoing into the mattress, and then his ass pulsed, clamped on Oz’s dick, dragged him in and kept him there, the friction too much to hold off another second.

  Oz clamped his fingers around Jax’s hips and slammed into him. He couldn’t have stopped it now, had to clutch on like his life depended on it and empty his balls into this man as something like a roar tore at Oz’s throat.

  He collapsed onto Jax, using a last bit of energy to tug them onto their sides, feeling Jax’s body wince at the rough shift of Oz’s cock in his ass.

  Jax’s arms came down around Oz’s, pinning them against Jax’s chest. Oz appreciated the fuck out of that, because the rush in his head and heavy beat of his heart made him feel like he was free-falling.

  Instead of dreading the landing, though, he knew Jax was under him. Catching him. Hard. Solid. So fucking strong.

  Every time Oz’s body wanted to jolt back into motion—the constant worry that there was something that needed to be done—the muscles clamped around him kept him there, relaxed. The girls were fine at Angela’s. Nothing to do but feel exactly this.

  The panicked spurts faded away on long, slow breaths until Oz’s bottom arm went numb.

  Jax hissed as they separated.

  “Sorry,” Oz said.

  Jax rolled onto his other side, then cocked an elbow to support his head. He arched his brow. “Sorry? Best fucking orgasm of my life and the guy says ‘Ooops, sorry’?”

  Oz couldn’t help smiling. “I didn’t say oops.”

  Jax kept up his insulted act. “It was implied.”

  Oz copied one of Joaquín’s more infuriating shrugs. “I can’t be responsible for your inferences.”

  Jax laughed. “As long as you don’t mind being responsible for another orgasm like that, I’ll let it pass.”

  Oz propped up his head to watch Jax across the wet spot. “So, best ever, huh?”

  Jax lowered his gaze, free hand going toward his ear before sliding away. “Well, the last one’s always the best ever.”

  “Oh no.” Oz pressed a foot into Jax’s ankle. “No take backs.”

  “Yeah? I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Lots of responsibility you’re taking on there. Being the guy to bring the best.”

  Oz got caught in the bright, open look in Jax’s eyes. Happy, laughing, even something a little serious, like he was wondering how Oz would take those last words.

  Yeah, big responsibility and Oz were nothing new. But with Jax, it sounded a lot like fun.

  Chapter 11

  THE HOTEL concierge got them a cab, and then Jax grunted a curse as he slid his ass across the backseat. Oz smirked, and Jax gave him a half-serious frown. As the cab crawled off heading uptown, a fragment of an old Motown song came to Jax. He hummed it, then sang the chorus softly.

  Oz turned. “Got something to say about the real thing, baby?” He sang the last three words back.

  Theo’s musical director could suck it. Oz had no trouble recognizing a tune from Jax’s lips.

  He grinned, good mood, good company, and good sex infecting him to the tips of his hair. “Just saying substitutes can’t measure up to getting one-on-one.”

  Jax thought people only burst into song in musicals, but Oz started the chorus again, and they both sang it, though no one around them sang a harmony line or flooded the streets with choreographed dance.

  As the cab crossed 125th Street, Oz glanced over and nudged knees. “Getting a little far north for your complexion.”

  “Are you saying you won’t spot me some shade?”

  The restaurant was crammed into a narrow space but spread vertically over three levels. Beautifully carved wooden tables and leather ottomans made up most of the seating, which was illuminated with low-hanging lamps and accented by dark red draperies. The smell inside the door had Jax’s mouth watering immediately.

  Though the place was almost full, they were zipped off to a location near the third floor balcony. Jax tried to gauge Oz’s reaction as they climbed the stairs, but he was hard to read.

  As they faced each other across the knee-high table, menus in hand, Oz nodded. “This is cool.”

  The tension in Jax’s jaw eased. He’d really wanted something special. Different. From the way Oz was looking around in approval, Jax had totally nailed it.

  The menu was another thing. Jax didn’t recognize the alphabet naming the dishes, and the small-print English translations und
erneath weren’t much help. After flipping through three pages, he shot a glance over the top.

  Oz met Jax’s gaze, then gave the menu a look of exaggerated terror. When the waitress came up to them, Oz’s big smile converted her into an ally, and after a few questions and recommendations, they placed their stomachs’ fortunes in her hands.

  “I bet you’re usually a little more careful about what you put in your mouth.” Oz’s eyes crinkled at the corners, the oil lamps putting sparks of color in their centers.

  “I’m always careful about that.” Jax tasted the honey wine the waitress had suggested. It was good. Everything was good. “Even food.”

  “Ever get tired of it?”

  “Being careful?”

  Jax could tell the conversation had shifted from teasing to serious, but he couldn’t figure out where Oz was headed.

  “I mean, it’s got to be a lot of work.”

  The low seating made Oz’s squeeze of muscle in Jax’s upper arm more casual than it would have been at a dining table.

  “Oh.” He’d never stopped to think of it like that. Not that staying in camera-ready shape wasn’t a lot of work. Hell, most of the time it felt like his life’s work. But he’d been doing modeling work at age three. He couldn’t remember when an emphasis on his looks wasn’t part of his life. “Yes and no.” He took another sip of wine. “I can’t say I don’t want to start at one end of a bakery and eat my way through most days, but I like the results.”

  “No complaints with the view from here.” Oz made his eyes wide and appreciative, then rested a hand on his belly. “I know I should eat more fish, that whole lean-protein thing, but put beef tips in front of me and I’m lost.”

  “I’m not that big a fan of fish either. Gets boring fast.”

  “Like fishing.”

  Jax couldn’t tell if that was a question or a comparison.

  “My dad used to take me out,” Oz went on. “A lot of standing around on a dock being shushed.”