Page 14 of On Your Knees

He holds me for a long time. The hand that shoved down my pants curls around my side. His other hand has never left my throat, though the grip has eased. He holds me until I calm down, then he slides around me. His hands shift and glide over my skin, leaving electric trails. When he’s in front of me, they settle on my sides.

I can’t look at him, not while I’m standing like this with my pants around my thighs, but he doesn’t force me to. He lets my eyes stay down, but he does move one hand to my cheek. His thumb strokes. My eyes sting.

He says quietly, “I’m going to make you see it. I’m going to show you to yourself.”

My eyes squeeze shut. They’re still shut when I feel Ethan dropping in front of me, then they pop open. One of his hands remains on my bare hip while his other goes to my foot. He taps it, wanting me to lift it. When I do, I sway, too unsteady for the maneuver.

“Hands on my shoulders,” Ethan orders.

I grab onto him. For a second, all my attention goes to the sensation of his powerful shoulders under my hands, but then I’m busy obeying him, lifting one foot then the other as he pulls off my shoes and socks. Then he’s pushing my pants down the rest of the way. I step out of them, still holding onto his shoulders.

When he’s done, when I’m stripped bare, he looks up at me. It’s strange to be looking down at him when I’m the one naked and vulnerable. I feel both those things intensely, but I also find myself steadying as he holds my gaze. I stop worrying about the fact that he’s so close to my bare cock. I stop trembling.

His face is so different from anyone I’ve ever met, and it’s not because he’s handsome. He is that. His face is very masculine, but it’s also refined. The planes of it are clean and carved. In fact, he’s more than handsome. He’s beautiful, like he called me.

But what makes his face different is his eyes. They’re so intense. His whole being is intense, but it really shows in his eyes. And yet, they don’t actually show anything. Everything is under the surface. I can’t see it, but I can feel it. Last night, I sensed something dangerous in him. I still sense it.

I feel like it should scare me, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel calm.

Ethan rises to his feet. As he does, my hands slide down from his shoulders. He catches one as they drop and pulls me into motion.

He leads me across the room, much like he did last night. But this time it’s just us and I’m completely naked. I don’t know what to think of that, so I stop thinking at all.

Ethan takes me to the red velvet couch that’s shaped like a comma, though now it looks to me more like a nautilus shell. It’s so deep that Ethan crawls onto it with me to guide me to the back. He gets me settled there. I’m not sure how it all happens. I’m moving my body but he’s somehow commanding it. There are no words. It’s just touch and intention, a hand on my shoulder, my thigh, my knee.

He poses me with one knee drawn up, my hand resting on it. My other leg is also bent but falling to the side, that hand resting on my thigh. I’m leaning back a little. The position is comfortable, and I don’t realize until Ethan starts to draw back just how exposed it makes me. That startled awareness must show in my eyes because Ethan pauses.

He takes light hold of my face, tilting it slightly. He keeps contact until I breathe and relax, then he murmurs, “Mmm, perfect.”

SIX

Ethan

Levi does so well, better than I dared hope. God, the way he responds to touch… it does something to me, something I’m not quite ready to look at. But I’ll look at him all day long.

He’s gorgeous.

His body is perfectly structured, finer and more elegant than mine but still strong and masculine. I love his hands. They’re wonderful to draw with their long, slender fingers. I’ll do a closeup sometime, once the bandage is gone. His hands would be beautiful wrapped around a wineglass or gripping a sheet or stroking my cock.

He’s not ready for that, but it’ll happen. He may not understand his own body right now, but I do. I know what he needs.

Right now though, what he needs is this. To be seen. I don’t think he’s ever been seen before. That’s why he’s so overwhelmed by it.

It’s so strange to me. I’ve been seen too much. But I can feel, through him, the frightening, tender pleasure of it.

The longer I work on my sketch, the more comfortable he is. He hasn’t moved. He’s an excellent model. He’s a very, very good boy.

I fill in some detail on his right leg, the one that’s drawn up. His limbs are lean and toned. I think he runs. Middle-distance would be my guess from his build. He runs as fast as he can for as long as he can.

What is he running from? Or toward? Probably from. I don’t think Levi knows enough about himself to run toward anything. Not yet.

Someone has hurt him. I need to know who. I stop my hand before I ruin the line with my anger. I close my eyes for a second, but I can’t keep them that way. I need to see him.

I indulge myself in what I’ve been avoiding. I glimpsed his cock when I pushed his pants down. I saw enough to know that he’s beautifully proportioned, perfectly formed. But I haven’t studied that part of him. I’m not sure if I’ve been saving it… or saving myself from it. My fixation on him is already bordering on obsession.

But I can’t resist any longer. My eyes drift down, and for a long while, my hand lies still on the paper.

Levi was so worried about not having shaved, but the light hair that trails down from his navel to his groin is beautiful to me. He’s cut, like I am, and his thick shaft lies softly over his balls.