“Dammit,” he groaned. He had to stop this. If he didn’t quit fantasizing about the guy, he wouldn’t ever get to sleep…and he really needed to sleep.
“Shit,” Arik grumbled to himself, irritated because as hard as he tried, he just couldn’t stop the thoughts from racing through his head. Was the guy even gay? What if his cousin had been right and Kellus was straight? No, he couldn’t be. Maybe bi, but definitely not strictly straight. There was no mistaking the look he’d caught today. His body warmed at the thought. Tomorrow he would make it a point to introduce himself. Arik lay there a few minutes more, trying to subdue the images that only intensified. What the hell was wrong with him? He never obsessed over men, yet here he was doing just that.
He gave up trying to clear his mind. Evidently, his dick now called the shots. He couldn’t deny how badly he wanted the artist.
“Fuck it!” Arik threw the covers back. He wasn’t going to get any sleep until he got some kind of relief, that was for damn sure. Arik closed his eyes and let images of Kellus Hardin completely fill his mind. He palmed his cock firmly, dragging his fist up and down his length a few times as he gave into his fantasy. Slow steady strokes had his hips lifting and his breath hitching in no time. The friction of his palm sliding along his shaft felt so good he couldn’t help but moan.
Arik stroked himself faster. Using his other hand, he fondled his balls, picturing Kellus’s talented hands on him, the same hands that had created the artwork in so many of his resorts, bringing him pleasure. His dick leaked pre-come, and his balls drew up against his body as he sped up his rhythm, working himself faster. He imagined what Kellus’s kiss might taste like, and how those fleshy lips would feel wrapped around his cock as he fucked the artist’s mouth. His thumb curled around his crown, spreading the wetness over his sensitive, heated skin. Arik’s strokes became shorter, tighter, more intense with his pre-come slicking the way.
He wanted to explore the other man’s body, learn all the little ways to make him moan. Arik couldn’t wait to stare into those blue eyes and watch as Kellus shattered from their combined pleasure. His release hit him hard, driving the oxygen from his lungs and holding his muscles hostage as pleasure engulfed him, sending hot ribbons of come splattering across his chest.
Arik didn’t move, he just lay there thinking about the handsome artist and basking in the after-orgasm bliss. After a few minutes, he leaned over the side of the bed, picked up his discarded boxers to wipe his chest. He tossed the underwear back on the floor, rolled to his side, and nestled into his pillow. His body now relaxed and heavy with satisfaction, he drifted off with thoughts of Kellus Hardin filling his dreams.
Chapter 5
Instantly awake, Kellus’s eyelids fluttered open.
He lay there a second, listening to the sounds. He didn’t necessarily have a bad feeling about waking, but he just never knew what might be going on inside his house. After a moment or two more, he lifted his head and looked over at the clock. It was close to four o’clock in the morning. He’d only been in bed a few hours. He shouldn’t be awake right now.
Turning over, Kellus drew his pillow against his body and willed himself back asleep. He lay there several minutes and actually did manage to void his brain, but the peacefulness was short-lived. He flipped to his back and pressed the heel of his hand into his eye.
He had work to do and Arik Layne on his mind. Neither would stay at a distance in order for him to get a good night’s sleep.
Whipping the blanket off his body, he sat up, placing both feet on the cold floor while reaching for the bedside lamp. Giving in to the need to work, he got to his feet and grabbed the pair of paint-splattered pants he’d taken off earlier. Carefully he put those on, and ran his hands through his tangled hair.
As he went down the hall, he gave a good scratch to the itch in his beard.
He filled his mind with the running list of projects he’d planned to deliver to the gallery before he even turned from the hall to the living room. He still got the surge of anger racing up his spine as he looked at the gaping hole with no television or surround sound.
On that thought, he remembered he hadn’t heard back on the police report he’d filed and went for his cell phone in the kitchen. The eerily quiet house had just enough moonlight from the windows to lead his path to the kitchen. He’d plugged his charger into a wall socket close to John’s medications…that were no longer there. Neither was his cell phone.