“Who knows?” He teased me. “Changed your mind now?”
“No, I can’t have pictures like that floating around.”
“Nothing would be floating around if we used your camera. But that ship has sailed. I’m in the mood for something else now.” He pushed himself up, sliding his dick between my ass cheeks as he lay on top of me, wedging my legs between us. His mouth settled on mine, kissing me with a fervor that made me almost regret not giving in to his wish of taking dirty pictures together. His arm reached past me to the bottle of lube and pack of condoms on the nightstand. Within seconds, he rolled a condom onto his dick, poured some lube onto it, spread it everywhere, and brought the rest that stuck to his hand to my crack, massaging it in. His fingers swirled around my hole until, without warning, he pushed one of them inside. It glided in easily since I had prepared for that possibility before he arrived.
“Already stretched,” he said, pulling it out again. “Good boy.”
“I’m hardly a boy at my age.”
“Goodtoyit is, then.” He leaned over me, and not wasting another thought, slid his dick inside—not just his glans, but his entire shaft until his balls bounced against my ass cheeks. “Very good.”
His hips moved, bouncing in and out twice with care, but then he returned to the same roughness with which he had mouth-fucked me earlier. He kissed me, chasing my tongue for three thrusts before pressing himself as close to me as possible as he fucked me as if I were his forever. My head tipped back, my lips gaping open as I breathed hard, enjoying him using me like the toy he had just declared me to be. My hands searched for his back, feeling his muscles move in sync with the rest of his body.
He pushed himself up, grabbed my legs, and fucked me harder. His right hand reached for my cock and started to jerk me off.
“I’m not going to stop until you shoot your load,” he announced.
“Makes me want to hold back longer.”
“Hardly possible.” His left arm let go of my leg and reached up to my chest. He dug his nails into my skin, slowly scratching me. The slight pain that shot through me was novel, but somehow intensified everything: his musky scent lingering in my nose, his dick thrusting in and out of me, his hand gripping my cock hard as it moved up and down, the bed shaking, my hitching breath, and the approaching orgasm. He was right. It was impossible to hold back. Everything became so intense that for a moment I lost control. Moans slipped out of me as cum rushed up my dick. I tried to hold it back inside for half a second, but I couldn’t. With a guttural grunt, I exploded, shooting cum all the way up to my nipples. Theo’s eyes widened with pleasure as he watched me, his hand and dick slowing down but not stopping until the cum stopped leaking out of me.
“Want me to keep fucking you, or are you done?” he asked.
“Do you want to come again?”
He paused briefly, scrunching his nose. “That would take forever, to be honest. But I can keep fucking you, if you want to, now that we’re already at it.”
As much as I liked that prospect, I was exhausted from running around all day. Not to mention, this was the roughest—and therefore most draining—fuck I’d had in ages.
“I’m sorry for being old, but this was enough for one night. It was a splendid night, though,” I said, not wanting it to seem like I couldn’t wait for him to leave.
His gaze wandered down my cum-soaked chest, over my cock, which was still in his hand, and finally rested on my ass, which he was still filling out.
“Indeed,” he replied and pulled out, sitting back. “A splendid little surprise.”
FRAME THREE
AN ARTIST LOOKING OUT A WINDOW
I’ve always hated openings, but never in my life has one made me more uncomfortable than this one. It wasn’t the curator’s speech about how brave I must have been to risk my life taking the photograph that earned me this exhibition. Nor was it the fake smiles of the board members nodding along to his nonsense as if they hadn’t come just for the free champagne and the chance to appear important in a press photo. No, it was the silent click of a camera that followed me everywhere.
Posing in front of the floor-to-ceiling print of my photograph—the one of a barn slowly being torn apart by a tornado—so everyone could see the man behind the frame?Click.
Stalling at the buffet while clinging to a stale soda so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone?Click.
Sneaking off to the restroom, because the hallway leading to it was deserted and had a window where I could stare at the sobering rain pattering against the glass?Click.
Any normal person probably wouldn’t have noticed. The sound was way too faint, easily drowned in all the chatter, clinking of glasses, and the rain pouring so hard against the gallery’s roof that you’d expect it to collapse any second now. Tome, the soft click was like an alarm that would have even jolted me awake from a coma—and I’ve had enough of it. I might have been forced to show my face, so the donors could see who they were giving their money to. But the fact that the photographer who had shadowed me all day was the same guy who made me his toy just last night made me want to run away and hide.
As another click followed, I darted my head around, staring directly into his lens. The man holding the camera, hiding his own face behind the black piece of equipment, had his black button-down shirt sleeves rolled up, as if this were actually hard work. He stood so close to the sliding door leading back to the gallery that anyone who opened it to find the restroom would have bumped right into him. His gray suit pants fit him nicely but couldn’t hide the fact that the fabric was cheap, something off the rack that just happened to be made for his exact stature. Another click echoed through the empty hallway as if mocking me.
He lowered his camera, revealing the grin that had been on his face since we first met yesterday.
“What are you doing, Theo?” I asked, my voice hoarse as if I had given the opening speech myself.
“My job,” he replied, the corners of his mouth pulling down playfully to make his expression even more smug.
I nodded toward the door behind him that led into the gallery. “Your job’s in there.”
