‘Kind of the point,’ I say. ‘I was the subject.’
‘The best muse any painter can wish for.’ His gaze drops to my cock, now standing at full height, forever a shower, not a grower. His hands touch it, making me gasp as his fingers brush my exposed head. ‘My muse.’ He unzips his shoulder bag, takes out his Polaroid camera. ‘Can I take a photo of you? I won’t keep it. You can have it.’
I eye the camera. ‘You can. You can keep it, too.’
He lifts the camera, frames me, and I stand and wait. The bright flash comes, and then the Polaroid is sliding out, and he puts both camera and photo aside.
I launch myself at him, pulling him closer, kissing him and only breaking away to strip off his T-shirt and his now empty bag. He lets me reach for the waistband of his shorts again, lets me slip them off him, until his Tommy boxers are all that’s left.
Sinking to my knees, I run my tongue over the fabric of his boxers, my eyes locked on his.
‘Be a good boy and suck it.’ His hand reaches for the Polaroid.
Softly, I extract his cock, feeling the weight bounce in front of my face, brushing my nose. I smell him, every inch of him, inhaling a hint of honey, before taking him in my mouth. He gasps, growls, and I let him take my head in his hands, allow him to guide me along his shaft, until his balls are against my chin. Blond hair tickles my face, and I breathe through my nose, looking up at him.
Fuck. That gaze.
He has me locked. Hooked.
He takes another photo.
He’s thrusting now, slowly building the pace. Spit trickles down my mouth, a strand of silver keeping us connected. I never break eye contact. I hold just as much control as he does.
He lets out a groan, and an explosion of sweet nectar coats my tongue and rolls down my throat. He watches me sip every drop before pulling out of my mouth slowly.
He sinks to his knees, meeting me at eye level.
The taste of him in my mouth, fresh, has me ready to burst.
We lie next to one another.
He kisses me, taking my cock in his hands. His hand strokes me with a hungry determination. I shiver at his touch, arching my back, my head resting against the floor. His breath on my skin as he comes closer, kissing my cheek, my neck. He touches me in all the right places, and before I know it, I spill onto the floor. He grins as I shake, collapsing with me in a heap.
‘No going back from that, is there?’ he says.
My hands trail down his back, cupping his pert buttocks.
He squeezes me as we lie in the dimly lit coffee shop. I can’t believe that happened. Sam, next to me like a renaissance painting, his spent cock still standing to attention, resting against my thigh. I link my arms around him. Once more, he reaches for the Polaroid, takes a photo of the two of us lying together. Once taken, he puts it on the floor and moves closer to me.
As he lies his head against my shoulder, his golden mane of hair fanned around him, I close my eyes, bathing in the moonlit glow.
Chapter Forty
SAM
Day Eleven
Will stirs next to me, his head resting on my chest. Eyes fluttering open, I wince as the morning sunlight nearly blinds me, dust motes twirling towards us like fairies coming to get gossip.
‘Morning,’ Will croaks.
I feel his naked body on mine, surprised that we’ve somehow managed to spend the night sleeping on the coffee shop floor. So last night did happen, and it was a fucking dream. I can still feel him on my cock, still taste his kiss. My cock stirs and I trace myfingers over Will’s stomach, twirling his hairs around my fingers.
I kiss his lips, tentative, unsure. What if he regrets last night? But he kisses me back, moving to me so that our bodies press together. I feel him harden against me, and I groan. ‘You’re going to make me ruin you.’
Will smirks. ‘Maybe I want to be ruined.’
I nip at his lip, and he gasps.
