This moment, drawing him and being with him, somehow helped the melancholy, and I was glad we’d found a way to lessen it in each other’s company.
Every once in a while he would smile at me, stroke his cock or mine. We both would soften, but then he’d make a sound or play with himself, or me, and we’d get hard again.
“Scratch, scratch, scratch. I love that sound,” he said as my pencil moved across the paper. “Sounds like home.”
It was my turn to say, “Jesus, Isaac,” because damn, this man owned me. I’d spend the rest of my life earning his love.
I looked at the sketch, wished it was better, wished I could do Isaac justice, knew I could have taken all night and I wouldn’t have, but still, he was so fucking beautiful. For so many years he’d been my muse, my inspiration, giving this and himself to me.
“Let me see it,” Isaac said, bringing me back to the moment with him. When Isaac reached for it, I let him take the book from my hand. Watched him while he looked at my drawing. Held my breath, waiting for his reply.
“It’s rushed. I didn’t want to take too long. I—”
“You’re incredible,” he cut me off. Isaac danced the tips of his fingers along the page, the way he’d done with the painting too. “Being your muse is great for my already inflated ego.”
“Are you sure it can get any bigger?” I teased.
“Oh, what is this? Are you doubting me, Lane? That’s very naughty of you…but then, you’re also drawing me naked in our parents’ house, so I guess that’s par for the course?”
“You bring it out in me.” I pulled the pad from his hand and set it on the table beside us. “I like being bad with you.” I straddled him, Isaac rolling to his back.
“What else do you like doing with me?”
I grinned. “Annoying you. What are brothers for?” Despite our situation and our worries, fire flared in his eyes when I said that. It was…hot in a way, a sexy way to play, but then I buried my hands in his armpits and began to tickle him. It was Isaac’s secret, how ticklish he was, and he started to laugh and buck me off him, but I held my ground.
He wiggled and arched until my hands fell away. I couldn’t control him and tickle him at the same time.
Isaac flipped me, lay on top of me.
“You’re going to get us caught,” I said.
“Me? Who was the one torturing me?”
“Who was the one laughing? I like making you do that. I like that I can do it better than anyone else.”
He was still on top of me, but I went for his underarms again. Isaac fought me off, the two of us wrestling around in the squeaky couch bed. It was dangerous, and we really should have stopped, but I loved having fun with him. Loved enticing this kind of reactions from him. Wanted to bring out this Isaac rather than the one who’d been so hurt from his nightmare or our situation.
I was getting harder by the second. Isaac’s cock dripped precum onto my belly. The look in his eyes changed then, primal and hungry, ready to take what he wanted, and damned if I didn’t want to take from him too.
“Shall I shut you up?” he said, pushing farther up onto his knees, leaning over me, holding his cock while he traced my lips. “We’re going to have to be quiet. If I have to use my dick to do it, so be it. I want you too much not to have you here.”
Here, in our space.
I opened my mouth to respond but couldn’t because Isaac thrust his cock between my lips. I lifted my head to make it easier for him to fuck my mouth. His thrusts were deep and slow. I tried to control the pace, to push closer and speed him up, but Isaac didn’t let me.
“You’re dying for it tonight, aren’t you? I am too.”
I reached up, grabbed his ass, felt his cheeks flex beneath my hands as Isaac sped the pace on his own, face-fucking me, his balls hitting my chin. Saliva dripped from the sides of my mouth, wet, sloshy sounds while he took what he needed from me and I gave it to him.
He pulled back, cursed. “Fuck, I almost blew down your throat already. Tell me this is wrong to do here. That we should stop.”
But I didn’t. I grabbed him, pushed him off me, kneeling beside his head. Isaac’s pupils blew wide a second before I thrust my dick into his mouth the way he’d done to me. He took it, the look on his face silently begging for more, which I gave. Each time I pumped my hips forward, I felt the scratch of his stubble against me.