At least I thought my observations had been done in quiet. “I can hear you thinking from all the way over here,” he said, his eyes fixed on a random painting I’d picked up at an antique store the next town over in an attempt to bring some life to the space. I didn’t know the first thing about art; I’d only liked the muted colors and the way the imagery reminded me of the rolling hills in the surrounding countryside after a thunderstorm.
“Where’d you get this?” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye before returning his full attention to the painting.
I moved to his side and studied the piece, turning my head this way and that to try and see what was so captivating.. As far as I could tell, it was just a picture of a river running through a mist-filled valley.
“I picked it up at that antique store you like so much,” I told him. “I got this one and two others. Calliope stole one of them, and I gave the other one to my dad. Now that he’s dating again, he wants to fix the place up a bit. And I figured since you’re always telling me that a good piece of art can really elevate a room, this was as good a place to start as any.” I shrugged self-consciously. Art and decorating was Elijah’s forte, and I was just playing at it, but since he’d come into my life, I was definitely making more of an effort.
He scrubbed his hand over his jaw and chuckled. “Only you could walk into a random antique store and walk out with a painting worth more than five thousand dollars.”
I nearly choked on my own saliva. “What?”
He pointed to the upper right hand corner where I hadn’t noticed a small grouping of faint black letters. “That’s Andrew Theodore Winslow’s signature.”
“Obviously I have no idea who that is.”
He turned to me and smirked. “Right, sorry. Winslow was one of the most important painters of the 20th century. He’s responsible for some of the most iconic works to come out of New England in the early 1920s. About thirty years ago, one of his great-grandchildren stumbled on a stash of old paintings in the attic of the family home in Newburyport, but not understanding the treasure trove they’d just unearthed, ended up giving them all away to local charity shops. Now, every five years or so, one of the paintings makes its way to an authenticator and then winds up at auction.”
“Wow. And you think this is one of those missing paintings?”
“I’d bet your Porsche on it.”
“Hey,” I laughed, nudging his arm with mine.
“What? It’s a good bet.”
“Yeah, well. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not really much of a gambling man.”
“You took a chance on me.” He turned to face me, heat burning in eyes the color of the sea on a stormy day. In the warm glowing light of my bedroom, they looked almost gray.
I stepped into his space, cradling his face in the palm of my hand. He nuzzled into my touch, his eyes dropping closed with a low murmur of pleasure. “God, I missed you.” I dropped a soft kiss to one corner of his lips and then the other.
“I missed you, too,” he said, his arms circling my waist and his hands dipping down into the back pockets of my jeans. He pressed our bodies together and ground against me, the hard length of him lining up against my own erection.
“Bed. Now.” I spun us toward the bed, and when the back of his knees hit the mattress, I tumbled us down onto my comforter.
From below me, he nipped at my neck and then sucked the stinging skin into his mouth to ease the ache. “Let’s never do that again.”
“Deal,” I said, rolling my hips against him. “Now take your clothes off. I want your cock in my mouth.”
He laughed huskily. “Someone’s been working on his dirty talk while I’ve been away.”
I growled and tugged at his waistband, flicking the button through its hole and dragging his zipper down. “You know you love it. Now strip.”
“You’re right; I do.” He lifted his hips, and I pulled his jeans and underwear down past his thighs and then tossed both over my shoulder. Quickly, I got rid of my own clothes and crawled back up the length of my mattress. I gripped his cock and licked the full length of it before reaching its crown. I circled it with my tongue, savoring the taste of him.
He flexed his hips upward on the next pass, his way of telling me that playtime was over and he needed more. The good news was, so did I.
From above, he mumbled something only halfway coherent when my tongue flicked over his slit, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that had formed there. As I circled him with my lips and sank down as far as I could, I rolled my hips into the mattress, seeking friction against my own needy cock. His tempo increased, and I loosened my jaw and did my best to take it all. I’d probably never be a champion deep throater, but what I lacked in skill, Elijah had assured me I more than made up for in enthusiasm.
He pushed up onto his elbows to watch the action taking place down below. “You feel so good,” he said, reaching out to caress my head with gentle, loving strokes.
Basking in his praise, I flicked my eyes to his and hollowed out my cheeks. I took as much of him into my mouth as I could, pausing only when my eyes began to water. I eased back, using my tongue to massage the sensitive underside of his crown. When I hit a particular spot that I knew he liked, his thighs began to tremble, and he clenched the comforter in his fists as he rocked upward into my warm, wet mouth.
“I’m going to come if you keep that up,” he choked out between staccato pants.
I slipped my mouth off him. “That’s kind of the point,” I said, then dropped back down to resume my work. This time, I added a moistened finger to the mix, pressing gently against his hole until the tight ring relaxed and stretched open. My finger sank in to the first knuckle, and he moaned.
“Oh, god. More,” he panted.
I pressed forward slowly, and when I reached his prostate, curled my finger upward in a come hither motion I’d read about online. Elijah’s hips jacked up off the bed, and with a shout, he emptied into my mouth, garbled words of love, adoration, and awe falling from his lips as I swallowed him down.
When he was finished, I eased my mouth from his cock and slipped gently from his body, kissing my way up to his mouth. He kissed me back with long, deep, languid strokes of his tongue, humming out his satisfaction against my lips. Eventually, our kiss slowed, and when his head fell back against my pillow, I pushed up onto my forearms to stare down at my lover. My best friend.
“That was new,” he said, smiling up at me with a sated grin that I adored.
I smiled back, almost shyly. “It felt like you enjoyed it,” I said, recalling the force of his orgasm as it hit the back of my throat.
“It was amazing, Oliver. I’d be tempted to ask for more, but I know that’s not—” He fell silent when I reached out with my right hand to root around in the drawer of the nightstand next to my bed. “Oliver?”
Finding the foil packet I’d stashed there earlier and a small bottle of lube, I grabbed both and brought them out to rest on Elijah’s chest.
A quick look of surprise flashed in his eyes before he quickly masked it. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, feeling my dick throb with anticipation. I’d spent the last six months working with a certified sex therapist to understand some of my hangups around penetrative sex, and I’d finally reached a point where I was ready to take our relationship to the next level. For the first time in my life, I actually wanted to connect with someone in this way. Not only wanted to but felt like I needed to.