Magic Mansion by Jordan Price (best fiction books to read .txt) 📕

“Straight. Right.” They stood together in their awkward embrace while crew bustled in the distance of the Mansion, and finally Ricardo said, “If I got hurt doing a stunt, they’d need to let me out.”

“Don’t say that,” John snapped, flinging Ricardo away to arm’s length and digging his fingers hard into Ricardo’s upper arms—and that X-ray vision look from the Professor Topaz poster blazed forth, far more intense in real life than it could possibly be in a photograph. “Don’t ever say that.”

“But I—”

“Don’t even think it.”

“Oh, hell…I can’t believe I just—”

John backed Ricardo into the wall and pinned him there. “Life…is so precious. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I’m sorry. I will.”

John’s mouth found Ricardo’s, more with desperation than with passion. This was Ricardo’s idol—not just a performer named Professor Topaz, but a person, an actual, real man. A man with hopes and dreams, disappointments and fears. A man who’d had a life full of experiences for Ricardo to share and understand. And though it was tempting to not only think “Professor Topaz,” but “Professor Topaz half-undressed from his tuxedo,” as strong hands raked down Ricardo’s sides, when a breath caught as their kiss deepened, mostly what Ricardo thought…was “John.”

John slid the kiss from Ricardo’s lips, whiskers tickling over jaw, and buried his face in the crook of Ricardo’s neck. The sound of breathing filled the room then, as if their lungs sought to find something in the very air to anchor them together. Ricardo wouldn’t have thought he’d be capable of responding to a kiss or a caress—not now, when reality as he knew it had just been stripped bare, and revealed as a trite charade. And yet, John’s hands sliding around his ass, grasping it, working it, John trailing scorching kisses across his throat, now felt like the only reality that was actually worth knowing.

When John’s hands shifted and slipped down Ricardo’s waistband, Ricardo actually moaned. John was relentless in his persuasion. “Don’t use your True magic,” he pleaded against Ricardo’s neck. “Not here. It’s too dangerous.” His hand closed around Ricardo, stroked him to stiffness in a few sure caresses. “I won’t lose you too.”

“John….”

“Promise.”

John slid his thumb over Ricardo’s slit, once, twice, and a spot of wetness welled to slicken the tiny stroke to devastating perfection. “I promise,” Ricardo gasped. John thumbed him again, and a shiver raged through Ricardo’s core. “I swear.”

John’s other hand wrapped around Ricardo’s ass, fingertips prying the cheeks apart, and everything else fell away—the Mansion, the competition, the hideous autograph session and the awkward limo ride afterward and the knowledge that Ricardo was being presented to the world as something he was not—and everything ceased to exist but a fingertip teasing at Ricardo’s hole. Teasing…and making its own promise.

Need blossomed in Ricardo, so strong and pure it washed away the anger and the dismay. It might only be a temporary solution to obliterate the events of the day in an act of passion, but at the moment, that hand, those lips, those fingers, were the only thing that mattered anymore.

“Please,” he said raggedly. John shifted his grasp on Ricardo’s cock and treated it to a slow, deep stroke…and with his other hand, he pressed the very tip of his finger in.

The need deepened into a desperate ache—as if John’s caresses had not only found the real Ricardo Hart beneath the veneer of Ricardo the Magnificent, but gone deeper still, to a place where names meant nothing, and instead there were only wordless, formless Truths surging together in all their blazing glory.

John flicked his wrist, and Ricardo’s stretchy pants snapped down around his thighs, exposing him in all his throbbing need. And before Ricardo registered what was happening…John knelt before him, and took Ricardo’s cock deep into his hot, wet mouth.

Bliss.

Someone made a very loud sex sound…and Ricardo realized distantly it must have been him. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but that amazing thing John was doing with his tongue, that sublime flutter while he sucked, and sucked, and sucked, and now his finger was buried to the knuckle and oh my god you have to stop because if you don’t I’m gonna—

“Wait.”

John paused.

“In the bed. Please.”

John stood, towering over Ricardo briefly, then swung him around and lay him down on the narrow bed. Ricardo was helpless to assist as John yanked off his shoes and pulled down his pants. His arms felt numb, like he’d forgotten how to work them, but once he managed to get his own shirt off, he couldn’t stop staring at the bulge now straining at the front of John’s trousers. “Do it all,” he said, because a blowjob really wasn’t enough at this point—and yes, it seemed reckless to tell someone to take him without a condom, but all the rigamarole they’d gone through to get into the mansion had involved not only vaccinations and physicals, but a totally clean bill of health. It hadn’t actually been “tetanus” Iain was referring to when Ricardo had bled out into the Wand Pond, after all.

John trailed a caress down Ricardo’s belly, smiling his sad smile, and then sat up straight and began unbuttoning his tuxedo shirt. As if he’d just read Ricardo’s mind, he said, “Don’t worry about that. The Truth is more powerful than a condom, anyway.”

“It is?”

“Just…not strong enough to stop a car.” John slipped his shirt off and hung it from the footboard. If this act had been happening anywhere else, Ricardo would have begged him to leave it on—to simply open the front of his trousers and go at it half-tuxedoed. But what they were doing, here and now, was more important than any fantasy, however well-cherished it might be. Once he was shirtless, John stood, watching Ricardo watch him. His body was tall and lean and dusky-skinned. Classic and timeless. And then he eased his slacks open…and revealed his thick, dark cock.

Ricardo arched his back, yearning to feel it sink in—now, finally. For real. He fumbled the lotion from