Art for Art's Sake

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Friday couldn’t have come fast enough.

So pent up with energy that afternoon, I had decided to jog the one and a half miles from my apartment to the art studio. Above the picturesque college town of Huntsville, fluffy clouds skidded across the rich blue heavens, while in the various gardens of stately homes, dozens of flowerbeds perfumed the air. From the treetops, squirrels chittered and birds chorused, rejoicing in the warmth of a halcyon day. In every direction across the vast campus, students lazily flung Frisbees or tossed footballs, perused Dickens or Shakespeare beneath shady elms, or lounged on the verdant, freshly mowed lawn beside gurgling fountains or duck-filled ponds.

A nimble breeze dried the perspiration from my chest and pits as I turned off campus, passing Dingle’s Donuts, Ye Old Town Coffeehouse and Computer Café, Riley’s Bar and Pool Hall, and Olga’s Oracle and Occult Bookstore, all businesses I had visited, except for the latter, on a regular basis. But I wouldn’t visit any of them today. No, today I had desperate business of my own that drove thoughts of donuts and coffee and alcohol and pool, let alone books on the occult, from my one-track mind.

Finally, I sprinted onto Main Street toward the town’s business and historical district. Despite being winded, when I saw that seven-story building at the end of the last block, I picked up speed, like a runner doing the final lap toward the finish line with the competition hot on his heels. Ever since last Saturday, I had been unable to concentrate on anything except my memories of that wonderful day, and now I dashed toward the studio, my stomach fluttering with excitement. I skirted shopping pedestrians, meandering bicyclists, traffic signs, and fire hydrants; zigzagged around parked vehicles, a startled hot dog vendor, and a swearing T-shirt salesman, probably causing several near-collisions in the process. But no-f*****g-body and no-f*****g-thing would keep me from my lover another f*****g second.

The s*x junkie desperately needing a fix—yep, that described me in a nutshell.

Novak had called yesterday afternoon, setting up today’s appointment. “I desperately need to see you, Matthew,” he’d said, his voice breathlessly arousing as if he’d just been m**********g. “Can you come to the studio tomorrow? I’m free after three o’clock.”

“Yes,” I had instantly replied. s**t, I had nearly shouted the single word into the phone. How could I not have responded to Sky with such rabid enthusiasm? His raspy, seductive tone had given me a mega-boner, and my heart had slammed a wild beat against my ribcage. I hadn’t even thought twice about blowing off my Ethical Issues in Mass Communication class, which coincidentally started at the same time. Ethical Issues be damned when a sinfully sexy and well-hung lover requested one’s presence.

After the phone call, I had become nearly impossible to live with. Poor Jeff and Vance and Darrin. I almost felt sorry for them. For the past twenty-four hours, my roommates had resided with an obsessed lunatic. One who relentlessly paced the living room or kitchen or hallway, continually stared at the various clocks, didn’t eat, barely slept, drank only a few beers—purchased on my own dime, thank you very much!—and took an inordinate amount of long, hot showers.

My roommates had eyed me with skittish amusement. Needless to say, I had wanted to confess everything about my newfound sexuality and my first gay experience before I exploded. Hell, I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I had listened to one of those guys drone on and on about the intimate details of a hot date. The “p***y stories,” as I had deemed them months earlier—mostly fiction, I had also decided—seemed to get more elaborate each time. I didn’t realize, however, how difficult it would be to hold back such a riveting encounter of my own, one of mystery, self-discovery, and truly steamy s*x, all wrapped up into one bawdy tale. Now I knew firsthand why those guys consistently felt a need to share their scandalous yarns with anyone who would listen. Problem was, I couldn’t share mine with a living soul. I had wanted to kick open that invisible closet door and spill the juicy details with someone before I went nuts, but instead I had to suffer in silence.

Unfortunately, that silence caused speculation as to my plight. Vance and Darrin concluded I was just nervous about posing nude again, while Jeff surmised with all-knowing authority that I was simply worried about whether Novak would pay me in cash or try to pass off a rubber check this time.

But of course I wasn’t nervous about posing, or worried about the cash. All I wanted was a chance to finally be with my lover again, the sexy creature who had refused to leave my mind since indoctrinating me in the ways of pure carnal bliss.

Now, deep in thought, I found the building looming before me. In the nick of time, I came to a stumbling halt before careening into the front door. After drawing several breaths, stretching my limbs, and swallowing the lump in my throat, I stepped inside the gloomy interior. The cool, dank air turned the skin on my perspiring arms and legs to gooseflesh. As I hastened toward the rickety elevator at the end of the hallway, the rubber soles of my sneakers screeched against the floorboards like an army of scurrying mice.

The ride up to the penthouse seemed an eternity, but it also gave me time to think. What would happen if I once again encountered that biker-s***h-rocker-s***h-pirate dude hiding in a dark alcove?

Demand answers, that’s what. Find out once and for all what he was doing there and what his relationship was with Skylar Novak.

But would doing so be justified?

Fuck, I could picture myself losing my cool and going over the top, making me sound like a jealous lover. And if discovering an intimate relationship between the stranger and the artist did exist, I would indeed be seething with green-eyed envy.

But as much as it killed me, I also had to face a cold and brutal reality. Although Novak and I had certainly become lovers, it had been nothing more than a “one-morning-stand,” so I could hardly lay claim to him, to label his c**k exclusive to my greedy mouth. Doing so would probably earn the artist’s wrath—the last thing I wanted—and make me look like a blithering fool.

No, I decided, I would have to tread very prudently. I would have to select my words with the utmost care and try to receive answers without harming a relationship that was still in its infancy, a relationship I prayed would continue indefinitely.

But when I slid open the elevator cage and stepped into the penthouse hallway, I quickly realized my fevered musings had been for naught. I found nothing but cobwebs and dust and that single light bulb aglow. No signs of the black-clad stranger in any of the murky alcoves. And I searched every f*****g one to make absolutely sure.

As before, when I entered the studio, it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the brightness spilling into the room from the skylights and the open windows. In every direction I saw the painted nudes and the tools of Novak’s trade, but didn’t see the artist himself anywhere.

Suddenly, my stomach twisted in extreme nervousness. The same sort of gut-wrenching apprehension one experiences after a highly successful first date and just before embarking on the second. Questions bombarded my brain. Were the feelings between both parties mutual? Had our s****l encounter been just a one-time fluke or did an actual relationship have a chance to develop? Would the same chemistry exist between us today, or in the past week had some deranged god-scientist farted with the delicate concoction and screwed things up for all concerned?

Novak had said on the phone that he desperately wanted to see me, yet he hadn’t gone into detail. I thought I had detected the note of craving in his voice, but did I only hear something that I’d wanted to hear? Now that I thought about it, I mean, really thought about it…

Fuck! I prayed I hadn’t made a mountain out of a molehill, that I would see the feelings and attraction I possessed for Novak mirrored in his own eyes, and until I did…shit! I took several deep breaths to halt the wave of panic I felt building on the emotional horizon.

After a moment, I summoned my courage and molded my hands around my mouth like a megaphone. “Sky? Yo, Sky? You here?”

“Hey, that you, Matthew?” he called from the adjacent gallery, the “Triple-X Room” I had christened it since last being in the studio.

“Sure is.”

“Great. Relax and I’ll be with you in a second, my sexy stud. Just finishing up some work.”

“No rush.”

Liar! I wanted him to rush, God damn it. I wanted him to drop everything and reassure me that I hadn’t constructed castles in the air with the bricks and mortar of flimsy erotic daydreams.

I rubbed my belly, hoping to halt the bothersome churning, and forced myself to calm down. Okay, yes, he sounded normal a moment ago, not like he was preparing to sever our burgeoning relationship with a verbal ax anytime soon. And he called me his “sexy stud.” Not like a more formalized greeting he might have given another model. Or did he call all of his models his “sexy stud”?

Fuck! s**t! Piss! If only I knew for certain—

And there he stood in the doorway, instantly terminating my dismal thoughts and making me shudder in burning need. He wore only a pair of faded cut-off jeans, and used a rag to rub blotches of red and blue and orange paint from his fingers. The stubble on his face had grown into almost a full-fledged beard and mustache, as if he hadn’t shaved since the last time I saw him. And that chest! His large magenta n*****s looked more suckable, his chest hair more luxurious, and my fingertips actually itched to be buried in that forest. Those long muscled and furry legs, those perfect feet, and that enticing bulge in the crotch sent my pulse racing to a death-defying beat.

Fuck, he looked so goddamned sexy. And I wanted him. Now!

And then I saw the answer to my prayers—the dimpled smile aimed in my direction, that lascivious twinkle in his black eyes. Yes, our mutual desire continued to exist. What happened last Saturday wouldn’t be a one-time-only deal. I had to physically stop myself from leaping for joy.

To further prove my fears unwarranted, he tossed the rag onto a nearby easel, then took my face in his hands and thrust his tongue between my lips, deep into my waiting mouth. Instantly, the flavor of peppermint assaulted me, a flavor I knew I would forever cherish. I wrapped my arms around his bare torso and groped the corded muscles along his backside, conveying to him all of my pent-up lust in one prolonged and heated exchange of passion.

He broke the kiss, but continued to hold me close, to waggle his crotch against mine. My body tingled when I felt a boner forming behind his zipper, pressing against my own hardening rod.

“You been running?”

“Huh?” I asked, then realized how perspiration continued to darken my blue jersey in an elongated V-shape just below the collar. And how my scent might have offended him. “Oh, s**t. Sorry about that. I jogged here today, so I’m probably in need of another long shower.”

He chuckled. “Never apologize for that. I like a sweaty man.”

“Really?”

“Let me show you just how much.”

He yanked the shirt over my head and tossed it aside, then licked the damp patch of hair in the center of my chest. As he proceeded to suck my n*****s into aching peaks, he lifted my left arm, ran his hand over my sweaty pit, then kneaded my biceps and triceps and deltoid muscles. Not only that, but he kissed his way to my arm and drew a deep breath of my hairy armpit. He exhaled slowly, almost appreciatively, obviously relishing my musk. Probably the same way I relished his at the moment—the combination of heated male flesh, the faint scent of soap, and the slight tang of oil-based paint and turpentine.

“Oh, yes,” he said, returning to my torso and tonguing my chest hair once again. “I always enjoy a man’s natural scent—ah, within reason, of course.”

I laughed and ran my hands over his shoulders, to the nape of his neck, and into his uncombed head of hair. I grabbed a handful of his ebony locks and tugged his head backward, then planted kiss after kiss on his mouth. I had thought that last Saturday’s slight beard stubble turned me on, but now having an almost-full mustache and beard scratch my face really made my c**k throb.

As if sensing my thought, he reached down and squeezed the outline of my erection in my jogging shorts. “Damn, just as hard as it was in your photos…the photos that drove me wild all f*****g week.”

“You’ve been working on the painting, then, huh?”

“I’ve made some headway, but every time I studied your beautiful physique in those photographs, I found it almost impossible to work long hours. Other things needed to be accomplished from time to time before I could continue, if you catch my drift.”

Oh, yeah, I caught the drift all right. He wasn’t talking about other clients or appointments or sittings, he was talking about the exact same thing I had done several times each day in the shower or in bed while fantasizing about his body. Holy f**k, the mental image of him actually jerking off to my photographs thrilled me down to the tips of my toes.

Novak wedged his left hand under the right leg of my jogging shorts, then into my jock strap, and fished out my c**k. “This is what I’ve wanted to hold all week, Matthew,” he said, stroking me and kissing his way down my belly. “Your photographs are excellent, but they are certainly no substitute for the real thing.”

When he landed on his knees, he brought my d**k close to his face and tugged the foreskin upward. He dipped his tongue into the crater of flesh he’d created, tickling my knob hidden below. I could feel the pre-c*m already leaking from my slit, and he lapped it up and groaned his gratification.

I started to kick off my sneakers, picturing us once again going at it like s*x-starved maniacs on the carpeting a few feet away.

But he stopped me.

“Not now, and not here. Hang on.” He got up, then went to the main studio door and locked it. “One of my other clients said she might stop by this evening to pick up a finished painting. Although she said she would phone first, one never knows. I don’t want her to walk in and catch us in the middle of doing something wickedly wonderful.”

I smiled. “She? I assumed all your clients were male,” I said, gesturing around the room to the dozens of beautiful c***s on display.

“You might be shocked, but the majority of my clients are actually female. I do a lot of ‘gifts’ for women who want to surprise their sweethearts or husbands with a painted replica or drawing, or want to remember someone special in their lives. They bring me the photographs they want created in oils or watercolors, and I happily supply them. Although I would certainly love to see the faces of some of the men who are to receive a nude portrait of themselves. Those men probably are shocked.” He came back to me and stroked my erection. “I occasionally do some female nudes, but as you can guess, I prefer—and specialize—in male physiques, which is why my business is sort of ‘underground.’ After all, we’ve all seen paintings of nude women hanging on a wall in a person’s home, or in a restaurant or museum, but how often do you see the subject matter of my artwork in or out of museums?”

I laughed. “Never.”

“Exactly. A c**k, especially a colossal and majestically erect one such as yours, is still considered too taboo for modern society, therefore, I’m running an ‘underground’ business, with an exclusive clientele, and most of them just happen to be women. That’s part of the reason I love this ancient edifice on the edge of town. It discourages the ‘average’ customer from venturing up here to find me. People who know my work, who are determined to have a nude of their husband or lover hanging in their bedroom, will dare to enter a spooky old building. The others, however, will simply leave me alone and find another artist to paint their dogs or cats or children or boring bowls of fruit.”

Another chuckle spilled from my lips. “And the other reason you have your studio here?”

“The rent’s damned cheap and I’m too lazy to find another location.” He released my c**k, then took me by the hand and led me into the “Triple-X” room. “Besides, I’ve lived here for years.”

“Lived?” I couldn’t help but gaze at several paintings of men engaging in s****l activities. “I can just imagine my roommates coming back to an apartment decorated like this.”

Now, he laughed. “No, silly, this part of the penthouse is just the studio.”

He led me to the center of one of the white-painted walls. Only when I got up close could I view the outline of a door, one I hadn’t noticed during my initial visit. Of course, why would I, with so many ejaculating c***s staring me in the face the last time I’d been in this room, not to mention experiencing my first kiss from another man, a hidden door had been the last thing on my mind.

He hooked his fingers under what looked like a notch in the wall, but it proved to be a latch of sorts, which he pulled forward. “This is where I actually reside.”

The door opened into an impressive bathroom, lit by candles and several ornate wall sconces. To my left, a walk-in shower, a toilet, and a black marble bathtub held center stage. To my right, a row of marble countertops, with twin sinks and a wall of gold-framed mirrors above, dominated. Opposite from me, with a plush and colorful Oriental rug dividing the white linoleum floor, another door stood ajar.

I whistled under my breath. The man certainly made a pretty penny from his artwork; so much for Jeff’s theory about Novak trying to force a rubber check on me.

“Welcome to my home,” said Novak, fully opening the other portal.

A long, dimly lit hallway lay before us, with several additional doorways on each side. Instead of grabbing my hand, he wrapped his fingers around my semi-hard d**k, still poking out from the right leg of my jogging shorts. His touch pumped additional blood into my groin, and by the time we reached the first door on the left side of the hallway, my c**k stood fully erect.

“Normally I would give someone a guided tour of my residence, but that can come later. Right now, this room is just screaming for use.”

Still holding my d**k, he pulled me into a palatial bedroom. Burgundy throw rugs dotted the hardwood floor, and a large bearskin rug stretched out before a dormant fireplace of black marble. Plush beige chairs and a matching couch, along with a wide-screen TV, an entertainment center, and a mini-bar commanded one side of the room, while an antique chest of drawers and a few tables stood between potted palms and knee-high urns. Several floor-to-ceiling mirrors made the room seem cavernous. And at the far end of the room, on a two-foot high platform, a king-sized bed awaited.

He had been absolutely correct; I didn’t need a tour, not when that cozy mattress seemed to beckon. In fact, the moment I saw it, I immediately kicked off my shoes and reached for the button of his cut-off jeans. We shed every stitch of our clothing in record time. Our hands and tongues explored our upper bodies while our stiff c***s dueled a sword fight at our groins. How we made it across the room to the bed without stumbling and breaking our necks, I would never know.

Once we settled on the mattress, we rolled back and forth from one side of the bed to the other, making out like horny teenagers, petting and groping, tickling and giggling, while our hard d***s got reacquainted with the satiny feel of each other’s flesh. Before long, the burgundy-colored blanket and sheets and pillows lay rumbled and askew, giving the appearance of an all-night s*x party. And I prayed for that very thing.

When our bodies finally pulled apart, we simultaneously gazed down at our groins. Our d***s throbbed side by side and the treasure trails of hair on our bellies lay matted with shiny and sticky pre-c*m.

Novak studied our c***s for a long moment and appreciatively licked his lips, as if viewing the dual columns of flesh with an artist’s trained eye and debating how he could translate the arousing image onto canvas. After a second, he took my left hand and wrapped my fingers around both of our rods. I squeezed and stroked, rubbing them together and using my thumb to paint both tips in our clear juice.

“How’s that feel?” I asked.

“Another lesson well-learned. Now then…” His left eyebrow arched in amusement. “I’m sure we’re both anxious to be the first man to feast on the meat, correct?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“But that wouldn’t be fair, considering our mutual lust, would it?”

“Probably not. But do you have a solution? Age after beauty?”

He reached around me to slap my ass. “Piss off, you horny punk. I’m not even thirty yet, and far more f*****g beautiful anyway.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so, and don’t argue with your elders. So age before beauty, or age after beauty—it doesn’t matter, Matthew, since I win no matter which way you flip that statement.”

Laughing, he palmed my jaw with his right hand, then traced my mouth with his thumb. After a moment, he sobered, and I viewed a flame of tenderness, of actual affection, vividly displayed in his black eyes. It made me shiver in delight, and I squeezed our slippery c***s even tighter.

“Damn, who am I kidding?” he asked. “You have the most handsome face I’ve ever seen, and I’m sure even a blind man couldn’t help but fall in love with it.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Artist Man, because I can’t get enough of looking at yours.”

“Okay, Matthew, so maybe ‘beautiful’ isn’t the correct word to use when describing me, but certainly ‘more worldly looking’ with this facial hair. By the way, do you think it makes me look more Bohemian? Like what people would expect from an ‘Artist Man,’ especially one who paints big fat c***s for a living?”

Grinning, I gave him a deep kiss, loving the way his short whiskers tickled my flesh. “I think it makes you look f*****g sexy as hell, and don’t ever shave.”

“I’ll have to ponder that notion later, and don’t be too disappointed if I go against your wishes. But for the time being, however, I’ve got a way to solve our current dilemma.”

“You mean who feasts first?”

“Exactly. I think it’s time for you to learn yet another lesson.”

I smirked and released our c***s. “I’m putty in your hands, oh learned one, so mold me.”

His laughter rumbled through my tingling body like thunder. “A quick study like yourself will need no special instructions, I’m sure.” With that, he licked a path over my chest and toward my throbbing d**k. Before I could protest about him beating me to the punch—or to the d**k, as the case may be—he twisted around on the mattress so that we lay groin-to-mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, eyeing the crimson c**k-head poking out from the duskier cloak of foreskin just inches from my lips, “I know this little game. And I approve.”

I slipped his meat into my mouth, and in tandem, he did the same to mine. My tongue drew circles around his ridge, raced all along his plump shaft. He tasted just as salty and as spicy as I remembered, but even more palatable now that I finally had a chance to savor him again. I stroked the root of him with my trembling hand, tickled his balls with my pinky, and feasted on his leaking c**k. And all the while, he did the same to me.

Our moans of hunger wedded in my ears, a symphony of carnal pleasure. And our actions mirrored each other—he licked, I licked; he sucked, I sucked; he stroked, I stroked, while the rhythms accelerated and subsided in perfect harmony. I’m unsure what I liked better, me pleasuring him, or him pleasuring me. It almost seemed as if I was performing on myself, something that had never occurred while sixty-nining with any former girlfriends. Yes, Skylar Novak knew exactly how to suck my c**k to provide the utmost pleasure, and I prayed I gratified him in return.

With his d**k still f*****g my mouth, he rolled on top of me and took my entire length into his throat, holding it prisoner. Chills exploded from my groin and rocketed through my veins. I clutched at his thighs and buttocks, likely gouging the poor man’s flesh with my fingernails, until he finally came up for air. Then he repeated the process. His tongue caressed my shaft from root to tip and I never once heard him gag. In fact, I could actually feel the tip of his tongue digging into my pubic bush. He cupped my balls in his hands, gently kneading them while teasing the wispy fur that led to my anus. This time I clutched handfuls of the blanket beneath me and squirmed, feeling my climax building with unrelenting force.

I sucked his prick with renewed determination, and to my joy, I finally felt his crown slip deep into my throat so that I now swallowed his entire shaft. I would have shouted my triumph had my mouth not been crammed with his solid erection. His nut-sack covered my nose and smothered me in his manly scent. I held his c**k in place as long as possible, never wanted to let him go, damn it, but my need for oxygen proved too strong. When I gasped and pushed up on his thighs, he pulled out of my mouth, then waited a few seconds before plunging into me again.

How long we played in this manner, I couldn’t begin to estimate, but I somehow managed to suppress the urge to shoot my load. Thankfully! I had a week’s worth of hunger to appease, and goddamn it, I planned to make the most of every minute with him.

We switched position several times, with me taking turns on top of his muscular frame. I loved watching his toes curl in pleasure as I deep-throated him and toyed with his balls or finger-combed the fur on his thighs, but not as much as I loved tasting the never-ending stream of pre-c*m that flowed from his d**k. f*****g hell, I wanted to drink from his majestic p***s until the end of time. Occasionally I would release him from my mouth and kiss his shaft, tracing the numerous veins with my tongue or fingertips. Other times I would nibble on his foreskin or snuggled his pounding flesh against my face, smearing the clear milk leaking from the crown over my lips or cheeks. And my nose never tired of being buried in his pubic hair, where I would take lengthy whiffs of his masculine scent before returning to feast on his genitals.

But fire continued to build in my groin, and I sensed I wouldn’t be able to contain my orgasm much longer. Novak, the master of fellatio, seemed to know my weaknesses, and habitually directed his tongue to lick or stroke or caress all the right spots at all the right times. I found myself in a quagmire of blissful torture. His hands also touched areas where no woman had ever explored, and when he tugged apart my butt cheeks and his fingertips crept closer to my hole, I soon found myself not only nearing the boiling point, but also whimpering my impending surrender.

To my surprise, he suddenly clutched my bucking hips and lifted me upward, freeing me from his mouth. I looked down between our sweating bodies just in time to see him blow a stream of cooling air along the length of my twitching, marble-hard d**k.

“Oh, please, Sky. Damn it. I was close…so f*****g close. And so were you…I could sense it…” Even as I looked back at the c**k in my hand, I saw that tasty crystalline nectar oozing from the head and running down the shaft to baptize my fingers. “Oh, please, let me shoot…let me make you come. I’ve waited a whole f*****g week to eat your load again.”

He placed his lips against the base of my erection. A combination growl-chuckle reverberated from deep within his chest and into his mouth, vibrated through my quivering shaft. “Calm down, lover. I’ll get you there. Just have patience.” He kissed the tip of my c**k and flicked his tongue over the slit, lapping up a bead of fresh juice. And his hot breath bathed my sensitive flesh, which drove me wild. “Yes, patience.”

“But patience has…has never been one of my…my greatest virtues.”

“Trust me. I want your climax—our climaxes—to be spectacular. I want us to unload buckets for each other.”

“I think I could do that now.” I returned my attention, my lips, to his dripping p***s. “And I’m sure”—I licked his knob and moaned—“yes, I’m sure you can do it, too.”

I started to take him into my mouth, hoping I could persuade him to do it my way, to feed me his warm jizz right now, but he rolled me onto my back before I had the chance. He scurried off the mattress, and I attempted to clutch his arms or legs and drag him back to me. When he avoided my seeking fingers and burst out laughing, I moaned my abject misery.

“Please don’t make me jack off alone,” I teased. “I will, you know, I f*****g will, just to spite you.”

“You won’t.” Novak stepped to a bedside table, opened the top drawer, and plucked out an item. “Don’t resort to s****l blackmail, Matthew. It doesn’t suit you. Plus I have a feeling you won’t mind what I have in store for your huge pecker.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, seeing as how you’ve successfully deep-throated me, it’s time you experienced something more. Learned another lesson.” He crawled back on the mattress and knelt beside my head. His tool bobbed bewitchingly with his heartbeat just inches above my panting mouth.

I raised my upper body and lapped up a stream of seed that had trickled down to his furry balls. “Something better than swallowing every drop of your hot load?”

He looked down on me with that lecherous twinkle in his eyes and that sexy, dimpled grin on his face that I’d come to treasure. “Oh, you’ll have your fill of that before too long. No, this is something else that I hope you want as badly as I do. Perhaps another one of your many fantasies…something I want to teach you. And, if you follow my directions to the letter, I will definitely give you much more of me to taste.”

“Then damn it, by all means, let’s do it. What are you offering me?”

“Myself, Matthew.” He unwrapped his closed fingers and showed me the item in his palm—a condom. “I’m offering you myself.”