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“That comes with the charm.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You know you love it.” I wink. “Besides, you let go around me, and I’m so fucking proud of that. I want you to know that you can give up control and trust that I’ll never use your vulnerabilities against you.”
“I know,” he whispers, but the sad note in his voice throws me off, but only for a second before his face returns to normal.
I realize the topic is closed before he speaks. “What do you want to do? Any other touristy things? Maybe a pastries tour? I know a few hidden Italian and French bakeries around North West and Central London.”
“I thought you hated the touristy things and even kept apologizing to many people and whispering, ‘He’s American, sorry.’ I can’t believe they nodded in understanding and had the audacity to look like they were pitying you.”
“Well, you talk too loud and keep making eye contact with strangers until they nearly shrivel and die.”
“I thought they were stunned by my handsomeness.”
“More like appalled by your unwanted attention. We don’t do that in London.”
“Okay, London boy. Seems everyone is a bunch of snobs like you.”
“We’re not snobs. We’re just big champions of respecting others’ personal space and privacy.”
“I don’t do that with you.”
“Don’t I know it.” He touches my arm. “Tell me. What are you in the mood for?”
“You already catered to what I want. We can do whatyouwant today. Walk around the park or watch ducks all day. It doesn’t matter.”
“It’s your first time in London. I want you to have the full experience, including the clichéd photos in front of the red phone booths.”
“It’s not my first time. I’ve come with my parents and sisters before and with Dad a couple of times to meet his godfather who lives here.”
“Oh. Then why did you make it sound as if this is your first?”
I lift a shoulder. “I wanted to experience it with you. It feels like the first time. I couldn’t pass up the chance when you said you’d take me on a date.”
“I can’t with you.”
“I know I’m your favorite. Now, you tell me. What do you want to do?”
“I’ll take you to those bakeries anyway. We have to satisfy the sugar monster living rent-free in your stomach. After that…” He reaches a hand back and I tense, expecting him to pull on his hair, but he just rubs his nape. “Do you mind modeling for me again?”
“Not one bit.” I smile big and kiss his cheek. “I love getting naked for you.”
“You love getting naked everywhere.”
“Not everywhere. Foryou, baby.” My voice lowers. “I can’t wait to bury my cock in your ass and have you begging and writhing beneath me.”
“Stop talking,” he hisses under his breath but I can tell he’s fighting both a smile and an erection.
Over the past few days, I hung around in his studio while only wearing shorts as he worked on his paintings.
At that time, I was contemplating the best way to smash Landon’s sculptures to pieces without being canceled by Bran faster than a nineties show.
So imagine my surprise when he walked up to me with a brush and started painting all over my chest, then he slid down my shorts and kept going. Best foreplay ever.
Needless to say, I fucked him against the floor right after. Ever since then, he’d asked if I could model for him and I’ve jumped at the opportunity.
From the sketches I’ve caught glimpses of, I think he’s replicating my tattoos, and that’s a good sign, I think. I’d do anything in my power to help him get over not being able to paint people.
