How to Love(6)

By: Kelly Jamieson


“Fuck!” He gripped Carlos’s hair, his body bowed and tensed. “Oh Christ…yeah.”

When he stopped pulsing moments later, Carlos drew back, letting Mike’s semi-hard and wet cock fall with one last sweep of his tongue over the head that made him twitch. Carlos looked up at him, his mouth wet, dark eyes gleaming, still stroking his own cock. “Gonna come,” he mumbled.

“Let me,” Mike said, grabbing Carlos’s hand and yanking him up. Carlos fell against the counter and Mike let his shaky legs lower him to the floor. He shoved Carlos’s shirt up and kissed his groin, his belly, replacing Carlos’s hand on his cock with his own to resume the stroking. Carlos started to come immediately and Mike closed his mouth over him, let the taste of his come fill his mouth, sucking and swallowing, his eyes closed in delight. His body still pulsed with his own orgasm as he filled his senses with the taste and scent of the other man, the weight of him on his tongue. Heat washed over him, and then he released Carlos, sank to sit on the floor and leaned against the cupboards.

“Holy shit,” he said, wiping his mouth. Carlos slid down to sit beside him and they slumped into each other, forehead to sweaty forehead, panting.

“Yeah.”

Silence surrounded them as the thudding of his heart in his ears gradually faded.

“Love you, babe,” Mike murmured.

“I know.”

They both grinned.





Chapter Two

Mike wasn’t sure why he was there.

He opened the door and walked into the gallery on Saturday afternoon—not the type of place he usually hung out. Cool air washed over him in contrast to the hot summer day outside. Soft music played somewhere in the background, some kind of jazzy saxophone music. To his surprise, a number of customers filled the store, some looking at images hung on the wall, a man and woman talking to another woman who appeared to work there. The murmur of their voices echoed a little in the space with its high ceiling, white walls and gleaming hardwood floor.

He didn’t see Jules anywhere in the space. Had he come there for nothing?

Well, even if she wasn’t there, curiosity about her work had driven him there. And to be honest, curiosity about her. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but this classy, elegant space wasn’t it.

Tiny lights suspended from the ceiling artfully lit the work on the walls and he wandered over to look at some of them. There were no nude photos at all that he could see, rather, some incredible landscape photographs—stark black and white images of bare trees, sand dunes, rock formations, then colorful images of what appeared to be beaches in a tropical location. He surveyed them, slowly walking past. Another area featured portraits, but all unusual—an elderly Asian woman with sad eyes and a heavily wrinkled face, a man sitting on a bench near a beach, clearly homeless, head bowed with defeat, a little girl in a ballet tutu sitting on the floor looking up at someone or something with sad longing on her small face.

Mike paused in front of that one, his chest clenching. Then he shook his head. Obviously she was a talented photographer if one of her images could grab him like that.

He passed through a wide opening in the wall, into another smaller gallery. Ah. Here were the nudes. Not as many photos as there were in the front part of the gallery, in fact there were very few, some black and white, some color. Some were of very specific body parts only—a round breast with a tightly puckered dark nipple. A seductive curve of a hip and thigh. He blinked as he studied the close-up of a woman’s vulva, naked of any hair and gleaming with oil. He stood there for a long moment, staring at that one, unable to take his eyes off it. Damn.

His cock stirred in his shorts, which luckily were baggy.

None of the images showed a face. Even if it was a full body image, the model’s face was usually in shadow or turned away from the camera. He moved on to study some male images. The first one he looked at was a man standing against a dark background. Water poured down on him and crystal drops surrounded him. Barely the outline of his muscled body could be seen, but it was incredibly beautiful.

Another featured a black and white image of a guy stretched out on a bed, really just the curve of his ass, shot probably from the vicinity of his feet, and what an ass, perfect and smooth, with high contrast lighting. The next was the torso of a man standing, head bowed, hands clearly touching himself, but that was just out of the frame, his muscled abdomen outlined in shadow and light. Something about his pose exuded a desperate need for sexual relief.

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