Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“I didn’t know you were a fan.”
“Of internet memes?”
“Take off your clothes.” That wasn’t a normal response to what he said, and it came out harsher than intended, making his eyes widen again. Seems I can’t act normal even if I try. Or maybe I’m not really trying. He doesn’t make me feel like I have to either.
I wait for him to change his mind or tell me to fuck off, but he glances around, starting to open his mouth when I instruct him, “Over here.”
He follows my directions like the good boy he is, standing at the edge of the tarp, kicking off his shoes as I approach the canvas I set up before he arrived. I study his movements as he undresses, removing his pants with his underwear. He’s half hard, and really, I’m getting hard just thinking about finally being able to do this. It’s been so annoying in class, having to follow our professor’s directions, trying to recreate some basic representation, when I see so much more when I look at him.
Dax discards his clothes on the arm of the sofa.
“Do I keep my socks on?” he asks, and at my glare, he says, “Kidding,” before removing them and throwing them on top of his pile, and then he’s standing in front of me, baring it all.
He really is a beautiful man. It’s no wonder so many guys want to fuck him, even without knowing his many talents once he lets you inside him. Fuck, I shouldn’t think about other guys fucking him because now that’s making me all kinds of agitated.
I study his body, drinking him in, my mouth watering, my cock itching to get back inside. I restrain myself because what I want from him tonight is more important than a fuck.
“What should I do now?” he asks.
“Pose.”
He smiles, surely amused by such an ambiguous direction, but he’s been doing this in class long enough to know some good ones. He arranges himself with one arm against his hip, the other raised, looking off to the side.
“No, that’s wrong,” I snap.
“I didn’t realize I was supposed to guess the pose you had in your head.”
I snicker because, yeah, he’s not psychic.
“Look at me,” I tell him. “And spread your legs more.”
“For you, no problem.”
“I’m being serious.”
“I was too.” His gaze is so playful, so Dax.
Despite being amused, I’m on a mission. “I like the one where you have your hand on the back of your head and the other relaxed at your side.”
He does that, but it’s still not right.
I grunt and abandon my station, approaching. “You mind?” I ask.
“By all means.”
I adjust him, noticing how willingly he goes along with it. Once I’m satisfied, I do a once-over. “Yes, this is good.”
I memorize this position, those lines I’ve become so familiar with in class. Then I return to the canvas and get to work, not wasting a moment, using this visual to guide me.
Yellow might be the right color for him, something bright like he is. I add a few streaks to the canvas, but it feels wrong. Totally wrong. A surge of frustration pulses through me, and I snatch the canvas, tossing it off the stand.
Dax gives a little jump, but he’s good at getting back into position right away.
“Fuck it,” I say as I approach him again. “Stay like this.”
I look him over some more, trying to take it in, but my muse isn’t satisfied. I need more. I follow my instinct, the impulse that drives me, moving closer, resting my hand on his elbow, then sliding it down along the inside of his arm before placing my hand on his hip. Closing my eyes, I trace his body from either side, getting a feel for those things my eyes can’t fully appreciate.
How smooth and taut his bare flesh is.
How warm as I glide across muscle and bone.
I take my time, covering every inch, noticing the shift as his breath hitches. God, even his breathing is sexy.
As I make my way down, I squat, getting a grip on that firm ass. His stiffened cock is right in my face, so I take full advantage, rubbing my cheek along it, letting my lips take another taste before sliding it into my mouth.
“Oh hell,” he moans as I explore his length, memorizing his cock with my mouth, but eventually I have to move on, so I release it and continue probing down to his ankles, caressing until I’m satisfied I’ve covered every inch of him. I give the head of his cock a kiss and a lick before standing up, my eyes still sealed as I process everything I’ve just felt. When I open my eyes, I notice how close his lips are to mine, how easy it would be to take another kiss, something he seems to notice too, but I know that if I do that, I’ll miss out on this opportunity, and I can’t, not when I’m feeling this inspired. Not when I think that might’ve solved my issue.