Free Blame It on the Bass by Lexxie Couper

it.
    Corbin’s hands scored at Levi’s shoulders, fisted in his hair. His panted gasps and strangled moans filled the bathroom. Echoed off the tiles and glass. Reverberated through Levi, into his heart, his soul. And then, with a violent thrust, Corbin froze, his cock deep in Levi’s mouth, his seed pumping from him in one final gush.
    A heartbeat later, Levi slid his lips from Corbin’s shaft, his body thrumming with pleasure. He leant forward, wrapped his arms around Corbin’s hip, pressed his face to the flat plane of Corbin’s stomach—still hitching with Corbin’s rapid pants—and held him. Held him and ached for him.
    Incapable of doing anything else but.

Chapter Five
    Sonja huffed an angry breath at the tangled mess of her hair hanging in her eyes.
    Push-ups. She was resorting to pushups. Pushups at six a.m. in the bloody morning. Bloody hell, surely a vibrator would be better?
    Blowing at her hair again, she lowered her body—balanced stiff like a plank on her toes and palms—to the floor. The muscles of her arms and shoulders burned. Which wasn’t surprising, given she was about to count off fifty.
    Fifty punishing pushups designed to get Levi bloody Levistan out of her head.
    It didn’t help every time she lowered her stiff, sweaty, hot body to the ground her nipples brushed the cool granite flooring of her living room.
    The fact she was doing push-ups—fifty-one now—stark naked also contributed to her flustered state. It meant every time her nipples did kiss the floor, even for the micro-second she quivered an inch above it before straightening her arms again, her hot flesh came into direct contact with the cold stone, sending licks of depraved pleasure through her. Depraved licks of pleasure that headed without delay to the junction of her thighs.
    In other words, she was doing push-ups to try and stop being horny over her old gay boyfriend and was getting hornier with every pushup she did.
    “Fuck this,” she snarled, bringing her knees up to her belly and propelling herself to her feet in a wonky burpee. Raking her hair from her face with a frustrated swipe, she stormed into the kitchen.
    She was meant to be at work in an hour. Work. Like she was in any state to go to work and deal with her boss and his sexual innuendoes. Ha . After spending the night either wide awake and thinking things she shouldn’t about her gay ex-boyfriend, or fitfully asleep and dreaming debauched dreams involving her gay ex-boyfriend, his too-damn-sexy American boyfriend and herself, the last thing she needed was to go in to work and read submission after submission of erotic writing from the slush pile, which was what she had to do today.
    Being an editor at an erotic-romance publishing house was all very well and good, until you found yourself tormented by thoroughly erotic and disturbing dreams and fantasies. When that happened, there, their, they’re and split-bloody-infinitives became less important than how quickly you could lock your office door and ride your hand to a climax.
    It wasn’t often Sonja found herself turned on at work—thank God, given her boss’s habit of checking out her boobs every time he was near her—but after the dreams she’d had last night, reading erotic romance was going to push her to that very state.
    The first dream had been about Levi kissing her on stage. And then stripping her in front of the crowd. And then eating her out while everyone watched and cheered. For some strange reason, a Justin Bieber song had been playing in the background, the words to “Baby Baby Baby” flashing green on the screen behind her.
    She’d woken from that one shuddering with an orgasm. Until that point, she hadn’t known women could even have wet dreams, let alone ones that made her moan and groan and shake all over.
    The next hour had been spent replaying the scene with Levi in Do Re Me over and over, trying to figure out what was going on with him. It had been so long since she’d had