Caleb released his hair, and Mason’s expert tongue traced the ridge of his swollen cock. “For one month, I’ll be your muse,” he whispered, and swallowed him to the hilt. Mason’s silky tongue pressed to the base of his erection, and he thought he might come undone.
“Mason, I’ll never forget you,” Caleb moaned.
Mason reverently laved his cock and stroked him to the verge of climax. Caleb surged in and out of his mouth with a fluid roll of his hips, his erotic sighs of rapture filling the dark closet. Mason stood and covered his mouth with a kiss. “Quiet,” he whispered. Caleb wove his hands through his hair and pressed him to the wall, undressing him as his tongue speared in and out like his erection had only moments before.
Mason’s head swam with desire as he let Caleb push a hand into his pants and touch him intimately. The kiss raged hotter. His dick was hard as steel, and Caleb handled him roughly and passionately. Mason bit his lip and held back a groan when Caleb kneeled and flicked his tongue over his throbbing cock.
Caleb wrapped his fingers around him and baptized him with his mouth, and Mason shuddered. “Ah! Caleb!” he hissed. He dropped his head and clutched the closet rod tighter as Caleb masterfully sucked him off. The pleasure was everything Mason remembered from their first time, intensified by the knowledge that he had a month more to look forward to. He refused to think beyond that.
Mason gasped as Caleb reached up and squeezed his nipple while working him over with slow, maddening swirls of his mouth up, around and down his dripping wet erection. He gradually picked up the pace, and Mason’s toes curled against the hardwood floor. He felt his balls constrict with readiness.
He jerked out of Caleb’s mouth to stop the rush to completion, but the erotic sight of a thin web of spit and pre-cum clinging to Caleb’s lips was almost too much. With a tortured moan, Mason pulled Caleb to his feet and kissed him. Caleb eagerly stroked their erections together.
“Make it last,” Mason pleaded.
Caleb shook his head. “We have to make it quick, but I’ll make it memorable.” Caleb lifted a hand and caressed his face with wet fingers. Mason pressed his forehead to his, and they sighed in sync, smiling. Caleb picked him up, making Mason’s eyes widen. “Hold onto the bar,” he whispered. Mason did as he was told, and Caleb put him to the wall. Mason wrapped his legs around his hips.
With a quiet grunt, Caleb eased his way inside of him. Fine tremors coursed through Mason’s body, bracing for penetration, but Caleb’s sensual kiss sent his arousal sky-high, and Mason melted in his arms. There was the brief explosion of pain—like fireworks—that turned quickly to wonder. A sob of ecstasy tore from Mason’s lips as Caleb gently rocked in and out.
He grinded against Caleb’s thrusting pelvis. Their lips met—more fireworks—and Mason’s senses were blitzed by what was being done to him. The closet filled with the sound of lovemaking underscored by strangled moans and sobs of satisfaction. It became an intimate shelter to their secret connection. Caleb’s blunt nails dug into his skin as he clutched him tighter. Mason dropped an arm around his shoulders and held him closer.
Being chest to chest stoked fires. His throbbing erection was sandwiched between them. Every slippery glide down Caleb’s cock brought them together and brought exquisite need. Mason touched himself as Caleb’s lips blazed a trail to his neck. He threw his head back and stared blindly at the ceiling, seeing stars as Caleb sucked his racing pulse while he masturbated faster. With hushed grunts of exertion, Caleb took him higher. Mason uttered love words in Korean against his earlobe as he nipped back.
Caleb threw a hand forward to brace himself against the wall, bringing Mason down harder on his cock. “Fuck! Uhn, yes! Mason!” Caleb kissed him, completely out of control. His chest heaved as he looked down at where their bodies slammed together over and over. He took over masturbating Mason, and Mason clutched the closet rod and writhed against him.
Caleb’s hips bucked harder. They were two trains colliding, but instead of pain, each crash brought elation. Sweat beaded on their skin, and their breathing came louder and faster. Mason feared they would be heard, but he could not stop. He met Caleb’s every thrust and gave as good as he received as his cock pulsated in his lover’s hand.
His body tightened. Caleb whispered his name in warning. Mason held his breath, feeling it coming, knowing there was nothing he could do to hold himself back. He squeezed his eyes shut as his body tightened again, and Caleb growled with lust and hammered harder and faster.
The magic started somewhere deep within Mason, expanding like a newborn universe. His mouth dropped open in a silent outcry. All the blood rushed from his head, and he thought he would lose consciousness. His body tightened rhythmically as spasms rippled through his cock. He whined through clenched teeth as everything in him seemed to come out.
“Mason!” Caleb sobbed and dropped him to his feet. Their erections came together in a potent eruption that gushed over Caleb’s racing fist. “Oh, my God, Mason! Oh, my—Uhn!” They kissed to mute the sounds of each other’s shocking conclusion as jizz rained between them. Mason’s abs clenched and his knees went weak. He clutched Caleb to his chest, shamelessly exploding all over him, feeling his ejaculation spill down his stomach and not caring. He just wanted to be close.
Caleb quaked in his arms until the violent shudders stopped. He slowly pulled back and stared into Mason’s eyes uncertainly. Mason asked quietly, “What is it?”
“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t ever want to say goodbye.”
Chapter 11
Caleb was distracted by erotic memories. The library was no place for fantasizing about Mason’s mouth on his throbbing erection. The two months of resistance had left him particularly vulnerable to the previous night’s sex. Now he could not stop thinking about what had happened in Mason’s closet. Caleb’s watercolor students looked at him expectantly as he went blank for the third time in as many minutes while giving instructions. Caleb chuckled self-consciously. “And, obviously, I’m not all here tonight. Uh, where was I?”
“You were talking about tenebrism,” someone supplied helpfully.
“Ah! Of course. So the terms tenebrism and chiaroscuro are very closely related and often used interchangeably,” said Caleb, eyes darting to the empty chair across the room. Mason was still absent, and he missed him, but they had to keep up appearances. If Mr. Sinclair suspected anything, Caleb’s plan to convince Mason to leave with him would fall apart. “They both rely on dramatic tonal differences to produce three-dimensional appearance. Let’s try our hand at light and shadow effect with this still life.”
Caleb directed his students to begin painting and struggled in vain to focus his attention on his own canvas. The idea of taking a chance with Mason left him both anxious and excited. Caleb knew the Pandora’s box of pleasure that had been opened could not be closed. The sex had driven that point home. It was like nothing he had ever imagined—the primal eroticism, the passionate sensuality—but his stand-offish reaction to Mason telling him he was falling had almost put an end to things.
Caleb had almost bought a plane ticket back to New York. He was not the falling in love type. Yet, here he was, willing to walk away from everything for Mason. That spelled complications. Caleb nibbled the end of his paintbrush in contemplation.
He could sell the rights to some of his current paintings to keep money coming in. While they traveled the world, Caleb could create art that was trendy and easy to peddle. They would not go broke. There was still the matter of people finding out his sexual preferences had evolved, but he was less concerned about that than what the Sinclairs would think of their son for being with him. Caleb’s brow furrowed.
Of course, everything hinged upon how Gregoire reacted to the stills of his paintings of Mason. If the agent felt he had something worth pursuing, Caleb would cool it. He would persuade Mr. Sinclair to let him stick around to complete the series. After all, Mason was staying home to pursue a career in finance. They would spend the time together u
ntil the series received enough monetary success for Caleb to have something to offer Mason besides promises.
He sighed and put away his brush so he could check the progress of his students. Caleb made his way from table to table, peering at canvases. “How’s this for a still life, Mr. O’Hara?” Mr. Dantzler chuckled as Caleb leaned over his shoulder.
“Very good work, as usual, Mr. Dantzler. What exactly were you aiming for?”
“Well, I was going for painting the vase as it is, utilizing the technique you taught us. We’ll see what comes of it,” Mr. Dantzler replied. Caleb laughed.
“Sometimes technique is the least important part of painting.”
Caleb was about to move on, but Mr. Dantzler halted him. “Why do you paint, Mr. O’Hara? For me, it’s quite soothing. I imagine you do it for its restive quality as well?” The old man kept his eyes on his art, his arm waving fluidly as he added neat brush strokes that made the picture come to life.
Caleb smiled and murmured, “It used to relax me. Now, I do it for a living. I’m well known in art circles in New York.”
“Oh, are you? I should have known you were no quiet country cousin fiddling away with his watercolors. Why are you here, then?”
“I had to get away for a while.” Caleb crossed his arms, smiling indulgently. “The critics turned on me. They said I lost my edge. I came here to lick my wounds and try to come up with something to wow them. I’m resigned to the fact my career could be just about over.” He shrugged.
Mr. Dantzler peered at him curiously. “Giving up that easily?”
“Well, it depends. There’s something else calling me if the art doesn’t work out. I mean, if my ship has sailed, perhaps I’ve accomplished all there is for me to accomplish in this one lifetime.”
“I see. I assumed people continued with their passions because of fulfilment, not accolades,” Mr. Dantzler said lightly. Caleb chuckled.
“Wouldn’t you agree we set goals for both? To be fulfilled and to accomplish something objective?”
Mr. Dantzler shrugged. “When we do things we love, we find fulfilment. When the things we love are loved by others, we feel accomplished. We can feel neither of those things if we’re not doing something we love.”
“You have a point,” Caleb replied, smiling.
“I encourage you to keep doing what you love, Mr. O’Hara. Life is short. You might wake up one day and realize you’ve wanted to paint your whole life and never really tried. As long as you have breath in you, it’s never too late, but don’t let it take you a lifetime to figure that out.”
“I’ll take that into consideration. Thank you, Mr. Dantzler.”
Caleb moved on to look at the work of his other students. He puzzled over what had been discussed. What would he do if Gregoire told him the series of paintings was good enough to make a comeback? Mr. Dantzler was right to say Caleb had years ahead of him. He did not want to spend them regretting the things that could have been but weren’t.
Even as the thought fluttered to the surface, another followed. How much would he regret leaving Mason if he ultimately had to let him go?
The next morning, Caleb stared out the attic window, watching as Riesling looped her arm through Mason’s and skipped alongside him to her car. Mason was going apartment hunting, against his father’s wishes. Caleb went to his kitchenette to raise a toast to rebellion. He was proud of him. It would be good for Mason to get out on his own.
He had to tackle his own demons. Mr. Dantzler’s thoughts had stuck with Caleb through the night. He carried his drink to the chaise lounge and dug out his cellphone to place the call to Gregoire that he had been putting off. It was time to get some firm answers about where to go next. Gregoire answered cheerfully. “The prodigal artist calls.”
“I should say the absentee agent answers. You gave me positive feedback about the stills in your email, but you failed to write a word about the most important business: whether or not you’ll be renewing my contract. Talk to me. I’m planning to be out of here by the end of the month.”
“Caleb,” Gregoire said hesitantly. Caleb sat forward on guard at his tone of voice. “I did some soul searching, and as much as I want to throw you a bone, I have to look at the bottom line.”
“Of course,” Caleb replied stiffly.
“Vido Charles is receiving a lot of attention right now. He needs to ride this wave without opposing forces, and someone like you reentering the scene would disrupt his momentum. Your styles are so similar.”
“Whose fault is it you chose to represent my carbon copy?” Caleb sniped. “The season is already underway and Vido Charles has gained the upper hand. Fortunately, I’m established enough to not take much of a hit from less exposure. I just need to get my work out there.”
“It isn’t that simple, and you know it. The season is still fresh, but you’ve missed the boat for this year. I would prefer to reintroduce you at the start next year in September.”
“And what the hell am I supposed to do until then?”
“I’m glad you asked. I have a friend in the Bay Area who could use a substitute. Alyssa is taking the spring semester from Yi Yan Art Academy, and she needs a teacher to fill her spot. You mentioned to me you’ve been enjoying teaching your little watercolor classes at the library. Why not take a swing at the big leagues at one of the premier art schools? You won’t have to touch your savings.”
“I’ve already cut into it.”
“What? Why?”
“I paid Mason Sinclair to sit for me.”
“How much?”
“That’s not the point!” Caleb growled, agitated. “The point is I need this season to get my finances back where they should be and to get back on top. Find someone else to play substitute teacher. I’m not interested. Put my shit in a show!”
Greg sighed on the other end of the line. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but since you insist here goes: We need to talk about that situation with Jade Wellington. Because of her, you’re all but blacklisted in this city.”
“Man, come on! Really? How was I supposed to know she was the daughter of one of the most prominent collectors in the city? She told me she was a damn supermodel.”
“Yeah, well, to tell you the truth, I sent you off partly because I didn’t expect you to come up with something so quickly. I was hoping at least a lengthy hiatus would give things time to die down. Mr. Wellington was not happy to find his daughter on the front page of a supermarket gossip rag, taking the walk of shame from your apartment, and that doesn’t go away in four months.”
“She didn’t have to take a walk of shame. I called her a cab,” Caleb grumbled.
“Her lipstick was smeared, and her hair was all over the place. She was only wearing one shoe, for goodness sake. And that was just the cover shot.”
“Hey, in my defense, I threw both shoes at her when I kicked her out—No, that—that didn’t come out right. Listen, Greg,” Caleb squeezed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “There has to be something you can do to fix this for me. My PR agent already spread the rumor I’m away in rehab. What if we do some interviews and talk about me going through a rough patch or something? I’ll get in front of a camera and apologize profusely, Greg. Profusely!”
“You’ve been gone four months. The way the media is set up these days, there’s a new story every second. However, there are some faux pas you just can’t come back from in less than a year. I fully understand your desire to get back in the game, but take this break. Go to San Francisco. Teach the class. You’ll be paid well, and by the time September rolls around again, you can get the fresh start you need.”
Caleb nodded with regret. “Alright. Yeah, okay. Shoot me the phone number to the school so I can set this up.”
“Are you excited about it?”
“Hell, no.”
“Well, get excited about it. I’m excited for you. It’s a new phase of your career, Caleb. The mature adult period. You’re no longer the prodigy, but you’re still a v
aluable part of the art world, and there’s so much you can show these young people,” Gregoire joked. “By the way, the stills of the three paintings you sent me looked promising.”
“So, San Francisco it is. I’ll book a plane ticket tonight. I’m slated to wrap up here by the beginning of January.”
“And things between you and your, uh…will be wrapped up by then, too?”
Caleb glanced at the window, knowing Mason was with Riesling somewhere out there in the world, planning a future together. One month really was all they had left.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s be honest, Gregoire. By September next year, I’ll officially be dead wood, and people like Vido Charles will dominate the scene. I might be able to add some honorifics to my name or even get tenure at some lame ass university, but this was supposed to be my year to make a comeback. I blew it.”
Caleb threw up a hand casually, as if the loss was inconsequential. He had a mere month left with Mason. He let that sink in.
“Let’s get through this one day at a time, alright, buddy?” Greg said quietly.
Mason stepped out of the apartment with Riesling. “What did you think of it?” she asked.
“It’s a good location.” He shrugged.
“You’re still not sold on actually moving out,” she guessed. “Afraid to leave the nest?” She smiled up at him, and the breeze lifted her hair and made her look radiant. Mason tweaked her nose.
“No. Afraid that by signing a lease in town, I’m lengthening my sentence here,” he chuckled.
It was a cold, sunny Monday as they stepped out of the stately colonial and headed to his car. Mason had spent the day productively, but he was ready to go home. His thoughts drifted to his employment prospects. His father probably had jobs lined up for him but Mason had sent off resumes to companies not connected to his family. He wanted to get ahead on his merit not his name.
When the real estate agent ran out of the apartment behind them, Mason looked back in surprise. “Did we forget something?”
Room for Rent Page 12
