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Ican’t take my eyes off him.
Watching Punky draw gives me a sense of peace. It’s here, in the silence where we can both be ourselves. The way he composes himself is a work of art within itself.
We’ve spent the past few days together, which means something has happened tohim. No one has come looking for me, but I don’t mistake that as freedom. I know they’re just biding their time. Something big lingers on the horizon, which is why I’m going to tell Punky the truth.
I can’t lie to him any longer.
I know what that means for everyone involved, but we’ll figure it out because I trust him. And to gain his trust, I need to tell him who I am and what I was sent to do.
Nervously wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans, I decide I’m just going to blurt it all out and hope for the best.
“C’mere,” he says, his smooth accent eliciting a sprinkle of goose bumps from head to toe.
Rising from the sofa, I walk to where he sits in front of his easel. I look at his sketch in black charcoal. The image is slightly abstract, but there appears to be a person with their arms stretched behind them. They look like they’re about to take flight. It’s beautiful.
“D’ya like it?”
Placing my hands on his bare shoulders, I lay a single kiss on his stubbled cheek. “I love it.”
“Each person I meet, they know somethin’ I don’t. I take that piece of information and learn from it. No matter how small that teachin’ may be,” he shares, his philosophical view on life just adding more depth to the amazing man he is.
“I woke up next to ye this mornin’ and this is what I saw inside my head.”
“It’s hauntingly beautiful,” I say, admiring his strokes and how, if you stare long enough, you can begin to make out her eyes, her lips, her hands. Others may see a man, but I see a woman, and that’s the beauty of art—it’s subjective. Nothing in life is ever black and white.
“I don’t know whether she’s comin’ or goin’, but she doesn’t either, and that’s okay ’cause I know she’ll always come back to me.”
Tears begin to well because I understand why Punky has drawn this. He still doesn’t know who I am, and it plagues him. If I were anyone else, they’d never have gotten away with what I have. But here he is, drawing a picture of how he feels, how he sees me.
I don’t deserve him.
He’s gone against everything he knows is right and given in to me because we’re both impervious to these feelings between us. I’ve never been in love, but with Punky, this feels something like love.
“Y’ll always come back to me, will ye not?” he gently asks.
Unable to take the gravity to his tone, I lift his chin and kiss him over his shoulder. He kisses me back softly, a promise that no matter what, he’ll always be my true north.
“Yes, Puck, I’ll always come back to you. I promise.”
I don’t know what’s caused the need to pledge this between us. Maybe he too senses a change is coming. But whatever the reason, I want him to know I’m his.
I break our kiss to drop to my knees in front of him. He said never to drop to my knees for any man, but he isn’t merely any man—he’s my man. And I want him to know this isn’t a casual fling for me.
I know what’s at risk. I know what happens if I don’t succeed. But I can’t stop the inevitable. I don’t want to.
Peering up at him as I unfasten the zipper on his jeans, I relish in the way his blue eyes darken and turn predatory because I’ll happily be his prey. When his cock springs free, my core clenches because I want him.
He threads his fingers through my hair, gently playing with the strands. These hands have killed, but when they touch me, I don’t feel anything but love.
He’s already hard, so I take him into my mouth and take my time pleasuring him. Punky is a generous lover, always ensuring my needs are met before his. Yes, he’s rough and likes to tease, but I want it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I grip his thighs and take him deep, tears leaking from the corner of my eyes as I gag on his length. He tries to pull out, but I suck him harder and bob my head, savoring the way his body shudders under my touch.
With a long sweep, I lick the underside of his shaft, loving how he tastes and feels.
“Ach, fuckin’ hell,” he curses, gripping the seat beneath him.
Increasing the tempo, I use my hand to grip his base and work in unison with my mouth. Tonguing over the slit in his cock, I hollow my cheeks and suck him hard. The pleasure I get from going down on him and being in control has me rubbing my legs together, desperate to soothe the ache down low.
