“I may have drifted off a little when drawing that,” I confess, turning breathless when he presses his thumb to my lips.
“You’re gay, aren’t you?” he asks softly, then pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear in a gesture bordering on a caress. Terror sneaks its way up my body, but before I can think of a deflection, he strokes my back and leans even closer, embracing me with one arm. Fuck, he still smells of art supplies under the aroma of soap from his morning shower... “Those sketches really capture the eroticism of male bodies.”
I’m finding it hard to breathe. Have I fantasized about him sexually? I’d lie if I said no. But have I ever in a million years entertained the idea that he might give me the time of day? Not really. My actual thought process didn’t even involve him as a real person. I assumed it was a made-up persona. Which it kind of is, just not in the way I thought. His beautiful mask hides a torture chamber where I thought the portraits hide a mediocre man.
There is nothing mediocre about Sevastyan.
“I am. Gay, I mean,” I mumble, because it’s pretty obvious by this point.
He smirks, and I whine when his thumb pushes into my mouth, right there at the table, by the two bowls of oatmeal. “Is this the reason behind your obsession with me? Did you find my portraits irresistible?”
“No!” I choke out once he lets me speak, but I still relish the taste of his skin. My heart is beating faster by the second. “I never… I didn’t even think you were real! Don’t you see it in the plans? What I reallywantedwas to expose you, take some photos, prove to the world you’re not really as beautiful as the portraits. That you’re full of shit.” I have to hold back a sob, because what I’m saying is that heisbeautiful. My whole fucking life is a joke.
Sevastyan’s breath teases my ear, and I only realize I’ve started crying when he wipes a tear from my cheek. “There it is. You’re irresistible when you cry,” he says and touches his nose to my defenseless ear. How could I not shiver? I’ve never— I’m not—
“Then why? What made you so obsessed with me?”
I sigh in resignation. I guess it’s time for my sob story, since I’m already sobbing.
“You fucked up my life.” My story is pathetic, but at least he’ll know I’m really no assassin. “I was ready for my big breakthrough four years ago. I was accepted for a solo show despite being just eighteen. The gallery owner believed in me, or at least I thought so. He talked about how sure he was I’d sell out, how he would introduce me to people. And then the night before my big break, I got booted. Because the greatSevastyandecided to show his face.” I shake my head as the memory still thrums with pain inside me. “And not only isSevastyantalented, popular, and rich. No, now we know he’s also fucking gorgeous.” Tears stream down my face by the time I’mdone with my tirade. “You know what? You can fucking kill me, actually. I’m just so fucking done.”
He shushes me and presses another kiss to my forehead. More tears fall from my eyes, and I stiffen when he chases them with his tongue. I can’t breathe. “You’re so dramatic. I didn’t even know you existed. My agent doesn’t bother telling me such things.”
“Why is this actually worse?” I complain, but lean toward him slightly, because his closeness is making me lose my mind.
“Well, I am sorry someone who finds me irresistibly talented and beautiful ended up having his exhibition cancelled because of me. You must show me your paintings sometime.”
His tongue is like a lick of fire on my neck, and my attention-starved body reacts to his touch immediately.
He leans even closer, his knee pushing my legs apart, and I feel my hips rising off the chair as far as the strap around my waist allows.
It hits me like a ton of bricks that he’s been touching me all along, building up to this. I simply couldn’t comprehend that a guy like him could want me. Or anyone for that matter since he lives alone by choice, does he not?
“M-my paintings?” How the fuck am I supposed to focus on that when he’s just licked me?
“Yes, your paintings,” he rasps against my cheek and slides two of his fingers deep into my mouth. They’re long, and graceful, and I suck on them without prompting despite the heat blooming on my face. He’s surely mocking me now, and yet... the thing I’m afraid of the most is that he’ll pull away.
“The sketches are good, rich, if a bit messy. I want to see more. I want to see what else hides in that pretty head of yours,” he taunts me, starting to move his digits over my tongue.
I can only hope his cock replaces them soon. I don’t have experience, I’m far too shy to ever make the first move, but it doesn’t stop me from being horny. I watch him with heat blooming in my face, because while I’m embarrassed about how responsive my body is to him, he’s the one who started all of this. The one man I’ve been obsessing over for years. Of course I find him attractive.
I nervously respond to his fingers with my tongue, and he shoves them in deeper, his breath a warm rasp in my ear. “That’s right, suck my fingers. They create beautiful things and deserve all of your attention.”
I nearly choke, but when his knuckles bump against my teeth over and over, my brain switches off. I’m just a body in the throes of lust, and Sevastyan is toying with me.
“Maybe if you taste me, you will absorb some of those traits you worship about me?”
I feel him shift out of the chair, but it’s only when he kicks my thighs wider apart that I realize he’s right in front of me.
His cock is hard.
And big.
And it deserves all the dedication I can give.
“Go on boy, you know I deserve the best,” Sevastyan says, finally slipping his fingers from my mouth.
Is this really happening? I’m flushed, hard, my cheeks are still wet from tears, yet I open my mouth, glancing up at him. I don’t have much experience. What if I don’t do a good job? Do I even want to? Of course I want to, he’s gorgeous. But he’s also Sevastyan, and he’s strapped me to the chair.
