Everything He Wants Page 3

  Might as well finish the story.

  “I knew since I was a kid I was gay. To medicate myself against my past, I cruised.” His voice caught. “The emotions got channeled into the artwork and I escaped through sex. I knew what I liked, but not who I liked.”

  “And you like me?” Trace cupped side of Jeremy’s face. The touch sent tingles through his system.

  “I do.” He barely recognized the gravelly sound in his voice.

  The dim light sparkled in Trace’s eyes. “Good to know. I’m falling for you, too.”

  “You’re not turned off? The tats, the piercing, the crazy-ass hair doesn’t bother you? My past isn’t stellar and I’ve made some stupid decisions. I’m clean, but not sparkling clean.” He blinked back tears. Memories flooded back, of the lovers who’d used him for a punching bag, the risky nightclubbing when he’d ended up in the hospital, knowing he deserved better but unsure of how to get better. The tattoos covered up the scars caused by the abuse. His stomach soured and embarrassment washed over him. Why the hell did he have to be so damned emotional anyway?

  “Forget what I said.” He opened his eyes and turned to leave the bed.

  “Wait.” Trace grabbed his wrist. “I’m not turned off at all. We’ve both got things in our past that we’d rather delete, but mine have made me stronger. You’re stronger and colorful, too.” He gathered him to his chest and settled on the pillows. “Stay with me tonight. Sleep and forget about your worries for now. We’ll work things out in the morning.” He snorted. “I don’t give up easily. Remember? I’m an air traffic controller. I get paid to put the pieces together and I’d like to be the one who stands beside you.”

  Jeremy closed his eyes and nuzzled Trace’s neck. For the first time in a long while, his mind eased. Trace could still run out in the middle of the night when he found out the true extent of his past, but down in his gut, Jeremy didn’t believe that. No, this was something that could last. He wanted it to last.

  He wanted Trace.

  Chapter Four

  Jeremy stretched and yawned. He battled sleepless nights all too often, but when he glanced over at the clock and noticed the time, he smiled. Almost eight full hours of sleep and with the hottest guy by his side. He palmed Trace’s bare ass. The tanned man slept in the nude and had kicked the covers off at some point during the night.

  He picked up the pen and notepad on the desk beside the bed and began to draw. Seeing his lover stretched out and peaceful, brought out his urge to capture the moment on paper. He wished he’d thought to bring a tablet of newsprint and a set of pencils.

  “So sexy,” he murmured, recreating the muscles of the sleeping man’s back onto the paper. “Not even a blemish.” He added the gentle curve of Trace’s ass before adding shadow to the sketch. Within moments, the image morphed from a simple sketch to a detailed rendering of the man he cared for.

  Drawing never took long, but with a sexy, sleeping model posing for him, he could take his time. Each line and shadow added depth to the image. His heart squeezed. At least he‘d have the artwork to remind him of the hottest night of his life.

  Beside him, Trace groaned and flopped over on his back. His cock stood at attention in the thatch of dark hairs. One arm plopped to his side, while the other ended up across his abdomen. His lips parted and he settled.

  Make a move and wake his lover? Or continue to stare?

  Jeremy shifted on the bed. “You only live once.” He knelt over Trace and licked his way from the crown to the base of the tanned man’s dick. Sweat and soap lingered on his skin. He grinned and continued to explore the buff planes of Trace’s body. He could use a couple of tattoos or a barbell through his nipple. Something to break up the seeming perfection.

  Jeremy meandered down to Trace’s balls, nipping and sucking the wrinkled skin. Curling his fingers around the shaft, he stroked in time with his licks.

  “Yeah.”

  He glanced up at Trace, who, instead of sleeping, watched him move. “Keep going. I can feel your piercing on my cock and I love it.”

  Emboldened by the words, Jeremy resumed his attentions on Trace’s cock and balls. Flattening his tongue along the underside of his dick, he massaged his testicles in his right hand.

  “That feels like heaven.” Trace tugged Jeremy’s hair. “I like the way you wake me up.”

  “I can make it better.” He slipped his cock to the back of his throat. He swallowed and hummed, vibrating the thick length.

  “Sweet Jesus.” Trace pumped his hips. “More.”

  With a chuckle, he slurped up the precum and traced the blunt head over his lips. He panted and sucked hard. Trace matched with thrusts of his own, tapping the back of Jeremy’s throat.

  Groaning, Trace dug his feet into the mattress, his grasp on Jeremy’s hair tightening. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted. “Going to come.”

  Jeremy opened his mouth wide and buried his nose at the base of his cock. Trace tensed beneath him and seed slipped down Jeremy’s throat. He held on for the ride and swallowed what he gave him.

  “Holy shit.” Trace let go and collapsed against the pillows. “You’ve killed me. You’ve killed me and I like it. A lot.”

  Jeremy could hear those words for the rest of his life. He wanted more time together. More time to explore, to taste, touch and play. “Come home with me.” He crawled atop his lover. “Let me show you my place and my studio.”

  “Won’t that mess up your flow or something? Artists are supposed to be protective of their space, aren’t they?”

  “Some are, sure. I’m picky about who visits my private space. I only bring people I trust, but I’m dying to show you where I work.” He shrugged. “It’s strange. I’ll have meetings downstairs in the gathering areas of the shops, but not in my own apartment.”

  Trace nodded. “I’d love to.”

  Half an hour later, they entered the elevators leading to his apartment. Positive energy flowed through him. He’d begun a new phase in his life, one where he knew who he wanted and how he wanted to get it. Things couldn’t get better.

  “City Center? Wow.” Trace folded his arms and wandered around the studio space of the apartment. “You got this on an artist’s salary?” He groaned and closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. “That sounded really shitty. I mean, I’ve heard of starving artists, but never met one who lived in a place like this.” He paused again then raised both hands in the air in apology. “Ignore me. Apparently I left my manners at the hotel.”

  “You’re fine. It’s a shock to most people, me living here. My mother still doesn’t believe it. She tried to move in with me, but it didn’t work. Too many demons.” He snorted. “But you asked how I got here. I did some graphic design for the hotels. They pay well for good work, especially if you work fast.” Jeremy shrugged then threaded his arms around Trace’s bicep. “It didn’t hurt to know people, too. The tenants who lived here before me trashed it, so when I applied for the unit, I agreed to fix it up in exchange for the right to change the living area into a dedicated studio.”

  “You renovated? Very cool.” Trace touched the edge of one of the canvases. He picked up a brush. “I’m sorry.” He dropped it with a sheepish smile. “I shouldn’t touch stuff.”

  “Feel free,” Jeremy said, then caught sight of one painting he wanted to keep hidden. He’d forgotten about the personal piece he’d created as a stress reliever, also inspired from visions in his memory. A shiver streaked up his spine and he disengaged from Trace. Grabbing a nearby bed sheet covering another painting, he hurled it over the canvas. The last thing he wanted was for Trace to see it and think him a maniac or worse.

  “What did you hide?” Trace tipped his head to the side. “What’s this?” He held the hem of the sheet in his fingers. “Something top secret?”

  “Yeah.” Jeremy nodded and hoped he looked more confident than he felt. “It’s nothing.”

  “You’re hiding from me again.”

  “How do you know?” He sup
pressed a wince. Damn it. The man already knew him too well. “It’s nothing. Just a painting for a client who wants to keep it private.” Hating the lie, he sucked in a long breath and swiped a hand over his mouth when he let the breath out.

  “I meant you’re keeping something hidden about you, and it’s killing you to keep your mouth shut. I can see it on your face even when you put your shields up.”

  Fuck.

  “So talk to me.” Trace perched on the nearest stool with his hands resting on his knees. The wounded look in Jeremy’s eyes got to him. How could one man have so much pride for his home, pride in his work, but still berate himself? “I’m not leaving this spot until you spill your guts, like it or not.” He crossed his ankles.

  “What do you want to know?” Jeremy stepped between him and the painting he’d hidden.

  The move unnerved Trace. He didn’t mind secrets, but something about the way Jeremy shifted from confident to uneasy spooked him. His heart sank. He longed to gather him in his arms and promise things would be fine, but how the hell did he know if they would be if Jeremy kept his mouth shut? Then again, maybe he’d been going the wrong way in trying to get his lover to talk.

  “I’d rather you know something.” Trace rose and crossed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around him. “Those guys in your past fucked you up. The first few times were heaven, and then the real man showed through, right? And you ended up hurt. I’ll never treat you like they did.” His blood boiled and fury flowed through his veins. He’d never met the men in Jeremy’s past, but he both loved and hated them. Loved them for leaving Jeremy, but hated them for the shitty things they’d done before walking away.

  “Maybe,” Jeremy whispered.

  “You paid the price for their ignorance.” He sighed. “I’ve never been abused, but I’ve had my share of being kicked around by life. I refuse to treat anyone like shit. It’s not who I am.” He kissed him and swiped his tongue over his lip piercing. “You’re an amazing man I want to spend a lot more time with.” His frustration dissipated and love took over. “Crazy but true.”

  “I still don’t know how this all worked out.” Jeremy rested his head on Trace’s shoulder. “I signed up for the service on a whim then answered all those questions with total honesty. I should’ve ended up with the same kind of jerk, like I always have. Instead I got you.”

  “Madame Eve is smarter than both of us. She matched up our honesty with the guy we both wanted—each other. Pretty smart.” Trace stroked his cheek and opened his mouth to kiss Jeremy, but the shrill ring of his phone interrupted. “I’m sorry.” He slipped the phone from his pocket to silence the call, but the screen showed his calendar. Work. He gritted his teeth. Things with Jeremy were so fragile. He didn’t want to leave just yet, but he couldn’t afford to miss work, either. Fuck.

  “What?” Jeremy gripped Trace’s shoulder. “You okay?”

  “I’ve got to head to work.” Trace turned the phone around, showing it to the artist. “I wasn’t sure if our date would work out. I didn’t know you’d be the guy I’d meet and I switched days off to help my friend.”

  “So you’ve got to go?”

  “My shift starts in an hour and a half, and I’ve still got to get home to change my clothes.” His heart ached. “I’m sorry.”

  Jeremy shook his head and offered him his hand. “I understand.”

  “You do?” Ah, there it was—the kiss-off. The end to the perfect night and all because he’d gotten cold feet and volunteered for an extra shift.

  “You get off in what—eight hours?” Jeremy stroked the hairs at the base of his neck, the touch sending shivers through him.

  “I’ve got a four-to-midnight shift. I’d rather stay here.” Trace groaned and held him tight to his chest. “This sucks, but I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing. That feels good.”

  “Life happens.” Jeremy smoothed a palm over his cheek. “I look at things this way: eight hours gives us time to cool down and decide if we want more from each other. This was a whirlwind date.”

  “I do want more.” God, he hated to sound so forlorn and pleading.

  “Yeah?” Mischief flickered in his Jeremy’s eyes. “Then come back. When your shift is up, hop in a taxi and come back. Or you can drive. Call up and I’ll get you a parking pass. Either way, I’ll be here waiting.”

  “Yeah?” Temporary crisis averted, Trace’s heart rate settled to a more normal level.

  “That’s my line.” He rubbed his burgeoning erection on Trace’s thigh. “The more I’m around you, the more I want you in my life. Come back. It’s scary and things are going too fast, but I don’t want them to derail either.”

  “You got it.”

  Trace and Jeremy rode the elevator down to the ground floor. Jeremy didn’t let go until the taxi showed up. “I’ll be waiting for you.” He kissed Trace, swiping his tongue over his top lip.

  “I’ll be here.”

  Climbing into the back of the taxi, Trace gave the driver his address then watched out the window until his lover disappeared from sight. The farther the driver got from the building, the more Trace knew he’d left a part of his heart with Jeremy. Yeah, he’d be there when his work day ended and he’d show his artist just how much he meant...all night long.

  Chapter Five

  Jeremy waited until the taxi turned the corner and left his line of sight. He sighed. Having the love of a hot air traffic controller turned him on. Knowing the same man wasn’t affected by money or mild neuroses, excited him. Trace wasn’t like the others, and for Jeremy, knowing so tipped the scales in his favor. Maybe Eve had known what she was doing when she paired them up and sent them both to the club.

  He headed back up to his apartment. Locking the door behind him, he felt the creative urge strike. He needed to paint. Two drawings he’d nearly completed for the gallery show sat on his drafting table. He picked up one of a nude man and woman sitting on a windowsill. Sexy, but not his hankering at the moment. The other drawing depicted another nude couple cuddled together in front of the same window, with a gauzy drape obscuring their naked bodies from the waist down. He remembered the modeling session. The man, a friend of the gallery owner, had given Jeremy his number and suggested they have a drink together. The slip of paper with the number fluttered to the floor. He snorted. Taking the guy up on his invitation would’ve meant skipping the 1Night Stand date.

  Funny how the world worked.

  He placed a tracing paper cover over the drawing and eased it into his flat folder. Tonight, the drawings wouldn’t tide him over. Working on something for a client wouldn’t help either. He glanced at the covered painting. Yeah, he wanted to add to the haphazard image and finish the idea burning in the back of his mind.

  Jeremy whipped the sheet off the canvas, then picked up his paints and brushes. The vision of a nude man with dark hair filled the huge blue color field. He spread red and indigo paints on his palette, opened a bag of sand and a pack of fresh chalks. The longer he looked at the man on the canvas, the more his thoughts whirled. Emotions hit him full force—the desire to create, the need to expel his energy, the lust in his veins, and love in his heart. He’d found his muse. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out to compose himself.

  Opening his eyes again, he knew what he wanted to do. After saturating the brush with red paint, he streaked the bold color along the bottom of the canvas. The blue and red faded into each other and surrounded the figure. He threw sand in the wet paint, adding dimension to the flat space, then used his palette knife to cut away areas. Each slash, each swipe of the brush freed him even more. All the hurt from his past ended up in the gouged marks marring the image. Tears flowed and he gritted his teeth. Art had always been emotional for him, but he couldn’t tote the past around any longer. Not if he wanted a future with someone—especially a man like Trace.

  “This is for all the times you walked away from me.” He slashed the bottom of the canvas with indigo paint. “And this is for treating me like dirt.
” He heaved a handful of sand into the smeared paint. Grains of sand flew and fell in a silver cloud. More tears slipped down his cheeks. His voice cracked and broke. “I took all your shit and never complained.” He scrawled over the figure with the chalk, marring the facial features and acting out through his art. “I deserve more than you. I deserve to be happy.”

  The chalk slipped from his fingers and he crumpled to the floor. He’d created the painting with Trace in mind, but the more he worked, the more he understood Trace wasn’t the man in the image. He’d pigeonholed him into the same mold of his previous dates. Trace wasn’t like anyone else.

  Jeremy wiped his brow and the wetness from his cheeks. Meeting Trace at the game so long ago had been a turning point, no doubt. So was their date, but he stood at the edge of the biggest moment in his life. He swiped his hand over the angry painting. The pain and sadness in his soul faded away. Sure, he’d be able to channel them later, but those feelings didn’t dominate his life. He’d finally allowed himself to move on and the freedom worked.

  After filing the wet painting away in one of the vertical stalls, he pulled a fresh canvas from the lower stalls. More colors were added to his palette, along with a wider selection of brushes. He cracked his knuckles and grabbed a thick brush. Now he could create.

  By the time he looked up from his work, almost six hours had passed. He’d worked the rough painting into an abstract figure resembling Trace with the lights of the club surrounding him. Yellow, blue and bright green ringed the canvas in a kaleidoscope fashion. With each brush stroke, he embraced the influence of his new muse.

  He couldn’t wait for Trace to return. What if he called him? Picking up his phone, he paused then slid the cover closed again. Damn it. When Trace left, they’d forgotten to trade phone numbers. No wonder he hadn’t called.