“Jesus, Isaac. Yes. Fuck yes.” Lane rolled over. He opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube. He was so fucking beautiful, all wide eyes and wavy dark-blond hair. I curled a lock behind his ear. I loved it long, and he’d been letting it grow, sometimes tying it into a knot at the back of his head. It just about reached his shoulders now. “Do you want me to ride your cock?”
My eyes rolled back, tremors cascading through me at the thought. “There will never be a time I’ll say no to that question.”
Lane gave me the bottle, and I slicked up my fingers. He hooked his leg over me again, taking possession of my mouth as I wrapped my arm around him and teased his hole. His body vibrated with needy energy as I circled his rim, then pushed a finger inside. As always, his body hugged me just right, sucked my finger in as I used it to fuck him, before moving on and doing the same with two.
“God, I love feeling you inside me, against me. Doesn’t even matter how you’re touching me or what you’re touching me with as long as I get to feel you.” Lane rutted against my hip, making my dick leak and my balls throb with need.
“Bet you can’t wait until it’s my cock stretching you.”
“I’m not sure it’s that big.” Lane winked before flicking his tongue over my pebbled nipple.
“Oh fuck.” He did it again before gently biting, then sucking me. He melted in my arms each time my fingers fucked up and into him. I was so damn hard, so ready to come, I was afraid I might lose it before I was inside him. “Ride me, Lane. Sit on my cock in your bed. I want this room to smell like nothing but us every day from now on. I want my cum and sweat on the sheets and to wipe away the memory of anyone else having you here.”
“No one has had me here, Isaac, because no one has had me anywhere. Fucked me, yes, but not had me, because I’ve always belonged to you.”
My dick spasmed, my balls tightening. “Yes, you have.” I slipped my fingers free, grabbed the lube, and rubbed some over my shaft. Lane straddled me, my hand at the base of my cock, the two of us working together until I was pushing inside all that tight fucking heat. “Yes. Fuck, Lane. You feel so goddamned good.”
We breathed together while he lowered down, taking me inside him. I pulled him down to kiss me, slipping out some before snapping my hips forward again. I fucked into him like that, tongue between his lips and dick filling his ass. Lane made whimpering noises into my mouth, moving against me, nails digging into my chest. We were sweaty already, and I loved it. There was nothing like a sex-slicked man against me, a sex-slicked Lane against me.
When he pulled back some, I let him go, and then he was controlling the show, raising and lowering himself down my shaft, riding me the way he’d promised. He rolled his hips, my dick pushing up inside him, making a home right where it belonged.
“Damn, you feel so good, Lane.” My whole body was on fire for him, every inch of me on sensation overload, his eyes on mine, his hair flopping as he gave himself to me. I held his hips, helping guide him, pressing firm so I’d leave marks behind. My cock was pulsing with need, balls throbbing, that familiar tingle at the base of my spine.
Lane reached for his cock, stroking it as he lifted and lowered. And when his eyes rolled back, when his hole clenched around my dick, I was a goner. The room got blurry, and my thighs tensed as my balls drew tight. I shot inside him, pulse after pulse of my release painting his insides just the way I’d wanted.
Lane fucked himself on me harder, jacked himself faster too, before he tensed, his ass squeezing me again, his release spurting on my chest.
When he dipped his fingers in it and scooped it up, I opened my mouth, wanting it, not needing him to tell me where it was going.
“Now I’m coating your skin and inside you too,” Lane said as I swallowed down his hot load.
After I ate it all up, I pulled him down to take his mouth, and just like his paintings, we were beautiful.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lane
I liked having Isaac in my apartment. Not better than being at his place, just different. It was nice to see him among my things. To see him shake his head, mumbling to himself about how messy I was while I painted and he cleaned up. When I told him he didn’t have to do that, he just came over to kiss me before doing it anyway.
For a few days we enjoyed the city together, nights in my space, in my bed. Still, heaviness lingered around us, the weight of the truth that our parents were struggling to accept us together.
On the day I was going to meet Genevieve to show her my paintings in person, Isaac decided to stay and try to do some work remotely. I was excited to see my old friend. We’d spent a lot of time together and attended a lot of the same events over the years.
I called a car service to take me to Genevieve’s gallery in Chelsea, where we were meeting. If I didn’t have my artwork with me, I would have taken the subway. Genevieve actually lived on the Upper East Side, which was where the party would be the following night. She often threw lavish parties to display never-before-seen pieces from her friends for people to go crazy over.
The streets and sidewalks were bustling, everyone in a hurry to be somewhere, and while I missed this, I didn’t know if I wanted or needed it in my life every day. I liked being home. I liked being close to my family. But then, if Mom and Timothy never came around, maybe it would be for the best if Isaac and I left. We could have a new start.
The driver and I made casual conversation on the way there, and he dropped me off in front of the gallery, a redbrick building that didn’t look like much from the outside but was absolutely gorgeous when you stepped inside.
The place was all white, the color coming from the displays around the large space, which she’d divided into three rooms. Gen was there waiting for me. She was gorgeous—tall and leggy, with the smoothest chestnut-colored skin, her hair natural and styled in a fauxhawk on top and cornrows on the sides.
“Lane Ryan,” she said with a big smile.
“Genevieve Barrows.”
I gave her a hug as best as I could with the two packages in my hands.
“Come to the back with me. You look great. That Georgia air has been good to you. You’re refreshed.”
“Thanks. It’s been incredible.”
She led me to her office. It had two white couches inside, a desk, and a few display easels. “I can’t wait to see these in person.” She took one from me and began to unpackage it while I did the other. Once we had them set up, I waited while Gen studied them, nerves digging deeper into my flesh with each passing second.
Gen was picky, but good. People respected her opinion. When she spoke, they listened, and while she’d always been a fan of my work, and had thought these two pieces were pretty in the photos I’d sent, seeing them in real life was different. She wasn’t one to blow smoke up anyone’s ass, and if she hated them, if she changed her mind, she would tell me.
“These are even more emotive than your usual work. Your talent shines through, and the detail is stunning, Lane, but that’s not what makes them so special. I can feel the emotion in these. It flows from the canvas straight into my chest. Look at his hand here.” She pointed. “The way he’s clutching the other man. He’s afraid to let go, afraid to lose what he wants so very badly, but if I stand back and look at it from a different angle, it’s almost like his hand isn’t his own but part of the other man.”