LOL: Laugh Out Loud (After Oscar, #2)(48)

“Yeah, suck me,” Scotty murmured under his breath. “Fuck. So good.”

I teased him with heavy, wet passes of my tongue along his shaft until he was begging and gasping. Finally I sucked him down and pressed his cock into the roof of my mouth with the flat of my tongue. His hands grabbed my head, and his legs crossed over my back. When I looked up at him, all I saw was the expanse of his slender neck with his head thrown back. The deep groans coming out of him were enough to make my balls tingle, and the taste of his dick in my mouth was not helping me stay in control.

I pulled off long enough to tell him to come for me, and then I used a finger to brush lightly over his hole. His entire body arched up, his hands tightened in my hair, and he sucked in a loud breath as his salty release hit the back of my throat. As he came down from his high, I continued licking and sucking him gently until he looked at me with glazed eyes and pulled my face up to his for a kiss.

We made out for a little while longer, but I could feel Scotty relaxing into half-consciousness. After slipping my clothes back on, I found a throw over the back of one of the chairs and put it over his bare body to keep him warm while he dozed.

“Stay,” he murmured when I leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m just going to start on dinner and check in with Oscar, okay?”

“Mm.”

I left him sleeping in front of the fire and made my way to the kitchen. The house was so quiet and peaceful, but I realized it was different than the night before when I’d just arrived. With Scotty in the house, it felt warmer, less lonely. I didn’t feel itchy and restless. I felt closer to the relaxed state Oscar had been hoping for when he’d encouraged me to come to Vermont.

After shooting Oscar a quick text to ask him to call me when he had a few minutes, I rummaged through the fridge, mentally thanking him for arranging to have the kitchen stocked before my arrival. I found chicken breasts and some vegetables that I pulled out in hopes I could figure out what to do with them. Google suggested something called Chicken Garden Medley which I kind of hoped made me look like a superstar in Scotty’s eyes.

After putting water on to boil for the pasta, and chopping peppers and zucchini to sauté, I was already feeling like a stud in the kitchen when I came face-to-face with the package of raw chicken. All I could think about was the commercial on television years ago that showed bacteria from raw chicken ending up all over the kitchen because of mishandling by the cook.

“Fuck,” I muttered, eyeing the package like it was a little plague bomb waiting to detonate. I imagined poor Scotty wracked with stomach cramps and winding up in the hospital from my mishandling of the toxic stuff.

The trilling of my phone caused me to jump a mile high and drop the wickedly sharp knife I’d been holding.

“Shit fuck shit!” I yelped, jumping out of the way to avoid severed toes. “Fuck!”

My heart was thundering and the pot was boiling, throwing out giant mounds of steam in my face. My phone continued to ring, and I scrambled to answer it before the noise woke Scotty.

“What?” I barked into the handset.

“Smooth,” Oscar said dryly. “I don’t know why you’ve been accused of having an attitude problem on set when you’re perfectly chill with me.”

“I’ve never been accused of having an attitude on set,” I snapped, leaning down to pick up the wannabe murder weapon. “You’re thinking of Dalton Orr.”

“That guy is an ass,” Oscar muttered. “But he gives good head, so he’s forgiven.”

The famous, straight actor was notorious for getting his gay on after a few drinks at parties, but I was surprised Oscar had ever let the man near him. “Tell me you didn’t,” I said.

“Just the once. He’d found out you and I dated and couldn’t stand the idea of you having something he didn’t.” I could hear the grin in his voice. “He was very persuasive. Eloquent even.”

“I thought you were looking for Mr. Right, not a closeted cockslut,” I reminded him.

“That’s presuming a Mr. Right exists for me,” he said. Before I could say anything in response, he changed the subject. “You sound unusually testy tonight. What’s up?”

I sighed. “How do you cook chicken without killing people?”

There was another pause, this one longer. “Is this what you called me about?”

“I mean, not necessarily, but it’s the most pressing question I have at the moment.”

“Easy,” he said. “You hire professionals to do it for you.”

“Not helpful at the moment,” I pointed out.

“I hear my sister turned up. Did she steal anything while she was there?”

“You mean besides my inner peace?” I peeked into the cabinet under the sink in hopes of finding dish gloves or something to protect me from the chicken.

“Or my vodka.”

I paused, thinking. “Yeah, she did take that. I believe the phrase she used was ‘purloined for compensation for past injustices.’”

“Huh. She’s not wrong on that. But you’d think the spa would be enough,” he grumbled. “Anyway, she told me you had a boy there.”

I bumped my head on the frame of the cabinet. “Shit. A boy? Fuck, Oscar. I don’t have a boy here. I have a man. I mean… yeah, he’s kind of young but… Jesus. You make it sound dirty. He’s a good guy.”