All It Takes Willa Okati All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2006 Willa Okati
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ISBN (10) 1-59596-478-9
ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-478-6
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Editor: Katriena Knights
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
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Chapter One Internal time clock: Morning, possibly afternoon.
Recall of previous night’s activities: Five percent.
Probability of alcohol being involved: Ninety-nine percent.
Potential for severe regret: Seventy-five percent.
Likelihood of hangover: One hundred percent.
Sullivan Whitfield groaned as he rolled over in bed. “Morning,” he mumbled.
“Morning already. Sun’s too bright. Someone put it out.” He thought for a moment, in the tangled lines that were all his brain seemed capable of processing, and added, “Scratch the last bit. Sun can keep on shining. Just not in here.” Why was it so bright? Oh -- blinds. Yeah. Closing the blinds would be a great idea. He’d take care of it, just as soon as he could move. Which, he thought, testing with a feeble twitch of the toes, would not be anytime soon. He tried to take stock of his situation, and came up with the fairly depressing conclusion that he’d gotten spectacularly drunk the night before, failed to get laid, and came home alone to polish off the last of yet another bottle. Pickling my own liver, he thought groggily. Liver a’la Sullivan. Goes well with a side of cheap booze. Possibly wine. Was wine involved at any point? Liquor before beer, never fear. Beer before liquor, never sicker. What’s the rhyme for wine? Wine all the time is plenty fine? Sullivan summoned up the strength to wing a throw pillow at his annoyingly bright window. “No more wine,” he muttered into the comforter. “No more wine, beer, liquor, whiskey, sour mash, or fruity girly drinks with the umbrellas. Aspirin. Medicine would be very good, if --” He swallowed. “I could get it down.” He was talking to himself again. Not a good sign, but when a man lived the kind of life he did, who knew what was listening?
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“If someone’s out there, help,” he said, closing his eyes. “Be a pal.” Lying with his eyes shut, he heard the kitchen sink turn on, and then the blessed sounds of a glass being filled. Moments later, a cool tumbler of water had been placed on his nightstand, along with two small white pills. “Bless you,” he breathed, turning over to sip the liquid first, then carefully swallow the aspirin. “You forgot to stay hydrated again,” a voice chided him. Sullivan cracked one bloodshot eye at the vision in a football jacket, Crazy Joe. “No matter what Melissa and I tell you, you go out and get sloshed, then forget all of us. It isn’t right.” “All of us?” Sullivan winced. “God, how many of you escaped the pages?” He peered blearily around himself. “Is my studio usually this much of a wreck, or did you help it along the path to destruction?” “We didn’t have to do much, trust me. All the same, you were the one who started drawing the orgy scene. Is it our fault if it got a little wild in here last night?” Oh. Yeah. “How much got broken?” Sullivan croaked, trying to turn over. He didn’t meet with much success. Just a few muscles violently protesting, the ache of incipient blue balls, and a roiling stomach. Stay down, aspirin. Good aspirin. “Just tell me no one started dancing around with lampshades on their heads and I’ll be happy.” “Dude, you don’t have any lamps. Not that we could find, anyway.” “You went looking?” Crazy Joe shrugged. “Everywhere but in the locked closet. That’s where you keep all the good stuff, right? There’s probably lampshades by the dozen in there.” He looked and sounded decidedly sulky, which happened to be far more than Sullivan could handle that early in the morning. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and groaned. “Look, I was having a really nice dream, in case you haven’t noticed. Would you mind heading back off to the pages and letting me finish it off now that I’m awake?” “Jeez, man, TMI.”
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“Get off it. I draw you and all your little sorority girls. And guys. If you ever want to get laid again, back to the drawing board unless I call for you. Thanks for the aspirin, but the royal we, me and my cock and my hand, would like to be alone right now.” “No, you don’t.” Joe shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “That’s the thing, Sullivan. You say you want to be alone, but you really don’t. I could help you out with your little, or not so little, problem.” He gestured discreetly to the tent under the thin sheet covering Sullivan’s body. “I don’t mind. You created me to swing both ways.” “Which is another thing. I swear to God, I didn’t ask for a magical drawing board that had the ability to bring my characters to real and physical life. Having you all walk around and talk whenever you get the urge is one thing. I’ve never fooled around with any of you before, and asking a man I created out of ink and paper to give me a blow job is just way too much for me to cope with right now. So, if you don’t mind…” Crazy Joe gave an aggravated shrug. “Suit yourself, man. But draw me a love story sometime soon, would you? I think Adam’s been giving me the eye. I’d like to take him out behind the frat house and show him a few initiation rites.” He waggled his tongue. “Know what I mean?” “Throw in a wink, wink, and a nudge, nudge, and I’ve got the picture.” Sullivan pretended to yawn. “Scram, Joe. Take a hike. Thanks for the water and aspirin, but I’ll take it from here.” “Your loss, man.” As Sullivan watched through bleary eyes, Joe headed toward Sullivan’s light table. He gradually lost all solidity and shape, melting away from a solidly real man into a wisp of dark smoke. The small cloud funneled itself into the scattered sheets of paper, where, Sullivan knew, he would reappear in one panel as Sullivan had seen him last, ready to throw a football.
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Sullivan took another sip of water and sighed. It was one thing to go crazy and start hallucinating figments of your imagination. A whole different ball of wax bounced into the room and knocked over a can of worms when the people you drew could come to life and start bossing you around. Eh. Their input helped make his adult comic book “On Fire” a blazing success, so who was he to complain? And actually, maybe he’d been too hard on old Joe. It had been a while since the guy had gotten laid, but… Nah. Sullivan assessed himself one more time and decided that his self-pity levels were still on the high side. He’d just take care of the not so little problem himself. Reaching underneath his sheet, Sullivan slid his hand down to loosely circle his cock. With the aspirin racing through his system, he felt good enough to take his own sweet time, instead of rushing through a quick jerk-off. And talk about sweet -- he’d had enough practice that he knew how to treat himself just right. One hand gripping the base, one running fingers lightly up and down the length of the shaft. Teasing the thick vein underneath, circling the head with his thumb. Damp already. Oh, yeah, that’s the ticket to heaven. His cock pulsed in his hand, clearly more awake than the rest of him and ready for some action. Sullivan pictured the organ developing a mouth to shout instructions at him, not unlike a drill sergeant. “Only two kinds of men draw cartoons for a living, steers and queers! Which one are you, boy?” “Queer, sir!” “Damn right! Now, get down here and give me twenty! I better see those hands start to fly, son. No pansy-assed half-measures for your pansy ass! One, two, three, on the double!” “Yes, sir!” Sullivan happily ignored the knowledge that he was talking to his own penis and began to do as he’d been ordered. Good, strong strokes up and down the length of his dick, hard at the base, squeezing at the top. His fingers grew sticky with pre-come, which he used to slick up the rest of his cock. “Oh, yes, sir.”
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“Good man!” the drill-sergeant-joystick gurgled before he was abruptly strangled by Sullivan’s busily working hand. With that, in the silence, Sullivan began to pump in earnest. He wanted off, and he wanted off right then. No waiting around. He’d had the picture in his mind since bumping into Mr. Gorgeous the night before. Ooh, pictures. Mental pictures. That hair the color of autumn leaves and those eyes gray as smooth, river-washed stone. Warm despite the color. Sparkling with good humor, even if Sullivan had been behaving like an ass. Memories of vividly wishing for a soft kiss dropped on his lips to show there were no hard feelings over staring. If he’d had the intestinal fortitude to just get the fuck over himself and ask the guy to come home with him… But no time for regrets when there was a perfectly good whack-off session already in progress. Sullivan’s breath quickened into short gasps as he pumped his cock up and down, and his cock responded in kind by stiffening from hard to diamond. Slippery, sticky rock. Best kind ever. His free hand flew out to grasp the sheets at his side, then headed back for Happyland, rolling and squeezing his balls. He liked a little pain with his pleasure, and oh, oh, oh, yes, that was how he wanted to come off, just like that. Visions flashed through his mind of a gray-eyed man with a gentle smile… on his knees, with that warm mouth wrapped around Sullivan’s cock. “Yeah, baby, yeah,” he panted. “Give it to me hard. Suck me. Come on, do it right.” He stripped himself harder. “Oh, man. So hot, so wet. Man, I thought this was good enough to come from just a few minutes ago. Now I wish I could make this last all morning.” He knew he couldn’t. Already he felt himself starting to build up for that final charge down the slippery slope. “Wish I knew your name,” he grunted, hand almost flying. “Go, go gadget magic powers, and give me a second chance with Mr. Delicious, huh?” On one upstroke, he paused, then yelled, “Geronimo!” as the orgasm overtook him, clubbed him on the big head in passing, and spurt after spurt of hot come flooded from his cock.
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Made a hell of a mess, but he didn’t care. Hand falling slackly away from his dick, Sullivan lay on his back, gasping. The room spun around him in dizzying circles, and he didn’t think he could put the phenomenon down to a hangover. Oh, man, yes. That little session had been one to write home about. All it had taken was a little inspiration… Coming slowly back to himself, Sullivan sighed. “Okay, so he doesn’t even know my name. I was drunk off my ass and I’ll never see him again. I’m still having trouble getting over Michael. A whole lot of trouble. But, fine. Thank you, whoever you were, for giving me the strength to go on. Cheers.” One last tremble, and he lay still on his tangled sheets. He didn’t have a clean hand to dry-wash his face with, so the sweat on his cheeks began to dry into a salty mask, but he couldn’t have cared less. It’d been forty-two days since his last sexual encounter, and this? What he’d just been through came as close to sex as he could possibly imagine. With a real flesh-and-blood person, that was. Okay, so he had a vivid imagination. The talent came in handy for a cartoonist. As soon as he had the energy, he’d get up off his duff and hit the drawing board. He remembered enough details of the long tall streak of deliciousness from the night before to get a likeness down on paper. Maybe he’d incorporate the guy into “On Fire” or he’d just draw a snapshot for himself, to remember the yummy vision by. Either way, there were definitely worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon. He’d just relax for a few more minutes before getting up. No one liked sleeping in the wet spot, even if they’d been the one to create it. He’d just… close his eyes… just for a minute… Within two, Sullivan was fast asleep again. He didn’t see Crazy Joe pop his head up from the drawing board. “Well, it’s a start,” the bisexual jock murmured. “Someone’s caught his eye. I say three cheers for them. I got a pretty good visual of whoever it is from those daydreams. God, talk about vivid. So, what do you think? We pull out the big guns for this?” A muted chorus of approval sounded. “Okay,” he agreed. “We’ll get Melissa on the case.”
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Sound of hushed doubt and amazement. “Melissa,” Joe insisted. “Yeah, I know she’s almost fully integrated. So? That’s all to the good. Means she’ll have a better influence on Sullivan than the rest of us sad sacks.” He regarded Sullivan with a shake of his head. “There lies one tasty man,” he said, a little wistfully. “And if he won’t have any of us, we’ll have to find him someone to be happy with. Melissa’s the key. Any objections?” There followed the absolute lack of sound. “Okay,” Joe said, slapping his hands together. “I’ll go get her and fill her in.” And with that, he disappeared again in a cloud of India-ink-scented smoke. Where he reappeared was somewhere beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.
Chapter Two Day forty-two, and all was not well with Sullivan Whitfield. The earth had gone around the sun forty-two times since he’d been dumped, ergo left in a state of single-hood, and he was there to tell anyone who asked, the situation sucked. Actually, no -- it didn’t suck. No one was sucking, or getting sucked, which for a man like Sullivan meant a great big hole in his social life. Not the fun kind, either. Forty-two days of absolutely no action under the hood or in the trunk, which Sullivan figured was enough to make a reasonably young man with decently active testosterone levels a teeny bit jumpy. Especially when, in all probability, if he decided to jerk off in his shower or his bed, he’d probably have a cartoon audience. Sullivan cursed the bizarre drawing desk he worked on for what seemed like the thousandth time. Probably as often as he’d thanked the thing. After all, his adult comic “On Fire” really was on fire, selling out in fine bookstores nationwide. Heterosexual men loved it for the alpha hero who always saved the day and got his girl, dominant women got behind The Bitch, who took no flak from anyone and got the job done just a bit quicker and faster, homosexuals loved the openly gay and lesbian relationships. Everybody got off on the adult romance. Critics praised Sullivan’s work as being “true to life” and “vividly real.” If they only knew. Sullivan would have thought a fine upstanding man like himself, six-foot-two in his bare feet with a head of messy black curls, snapping dark eyes, and a nicely bulky build -- thank you, thank you very much -- would have had no trouble scoring a date. The answer to that question, however, would be a great big “no.” He hadn’t even been
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cruised the last time he left his studio apartment. He’d forgotten how many days ago it’d been, but no lookee, no touchee, no feelee. Celibate for forty-two days, man. Sex was needed, stat, and badly. Cartoon voyeurs aside, Sullivan had discovered his wrists were developing symptoms of carpal tunnel syndrome, and it wasn’t from drawing, so to speak. His best friend, Melissa, said Sullivan ought to get out more. Melissa said a lot of things, many of which Sullivan didn’t pay any attention to. Being on the slightly bi side of gay, he either tended to get distracted by her full, plump breasts or annoyed by her scolding him to go out and get a life. Then smacking him upside the head for staring at her breasts. And if he complained, she always had the perfect retort -- you drew me this way. Which he had, back when he hadn’t exactly known the full extent of his comic book powers. Melissa, A.K.A. “The Bitch,” was the strongest woman he could conceive of, and the first he’d drawn as a test subject for his comic. Kind of his “Sandman.” Melissa never did do what people expected of her. The way he recalled it, after he’d drawn the final line, he’d been knocked on his ass by the explosion. When the cloud of India ink had dispersed, Melissa had stood in front of him. She was every man’s wet dream, straight or bi, in her tight midriff top, mid-thigh leather skirt and thigh-high leather boots with stiletto heels. She’d knocked him onto his back with one kick, then gently stood on him with one of her boots over his sternum. Her voice had been like honey and brown sugar mixed with fragrant rum. “Sweetie, we need to talk. For one thing? Dress me like a real woman. And two? You just opened Pandora’s Box.” She’d paused. “You got a smoke?” At the time, Sullivan had -- he’d been dating Michael, who went through two packs a day. The relationship hadn’t been serious, even if the habit was. He’d handed over a crumpled pack and some matches, watched her light up, and, on an exhale of smoke, she said, “Guess what? It’s a girl.” She’d never looked back since.
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Melissa had, as the rest of the cartoon crowd put it, almost fully integrated herself with human society. Stronger than the rest, she could survive on her own away from the table. Sullivan never had been really sure if her abilities were because she’d been the first, or if she really was the toughest chick on Long Island. Sure, she could dissolve into a cloud of ink and perform on paper as The Bitch, but she’d taken on her own name, gotten a job at the local pet store, rented the studio apartment next door to Sullivan’s own, and even developed a damn healthy social life. Two years after Melissa’s inception and the idea of cartoon “offspring” still boggled Sullivan’s mind. On the weightier philosophical end, did Melissa have a soul? On the ball-numbing terror side, was he, in effect, Melissa’s father? Did his family tree now have a Celtic knot in the middle? On most days, Sullivan figured answers to such questions were not for men to know, poured himself a shot of something, and got back to work. Some days, though, Melissa decided to get involved in his life -- and she didn’t let the sun go down on her. Forty-two days, a significant date for all Douglas Adams devotees, and she was dragging Sullivan to the park with her. He leaned against the wall, arguing with her on his antiquated rotary phone. “I’m not going. There’s sunlight outside. I could melt.” “Sweetie, you are going if I have to hack you up into bitty pieces and carry you there in a sack.” Sullivan could just picture Melissa drumming her manicure against the adjoining wall. Come to listen hard enough, he could hear it. Ouch. She’d break a nail, and then who would she blame? “It’s a gorgeous day outside. The sun is shining, birds are singing, squirrels are going rabid, and there’s visual candy in range as far as the eye can see.” She clicked her tongue temptingly. “You know you want to cop an eyeful if you can’t get a handful.” “Gorgeous, shmorgeous. I wouldn’t know.” “Do you have all the blinds drawn again?” “And the curtains. I’m being a reclusive genius. A method artist. Go away and leave me alone.”
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“Nuh-uh, no way, not gonna happen. We’re heading to our friendly neighborhood park on the lake, mister.” “But I’m happy in here creating dark fantasy worlds for disproportionately shaped heroines. I am deeply content hiding away with my cartoon rabbit curtains shut. Don’t drag me outside. Don’t make me face the real world.” “I’m going to be over there in five minutes. Put some clothes on -- don’t think I can’t tell when you’re naked, mister -- and answer the door when I knock.” “Why should I?” “Because a lady asked you to.” “When did that ever have an impact on what I do?” “Since that lady can kick your ass without breaking a sweat.” Sullivan hung up the phone and went to look for a pair of jean shorts. What? Melissa had a valid point. He’d almost succeeded in finding an unsanctified T-shirt -i.e., not holey -- when the knock came. Checking his watch, he guesstimated seven minutes. That would be his Melissa. He couldn’t help grinning as he went to answer the door. “Who is it? Avon calling?” “Calling you out.” “That’s my girl.” Sullivan opened the door to let Melissa in. Good old door, full of dings and dents but still genuine, solid wood. And to look at Melissa, one hundred percent woman, born and bred. Sometimes she still gave him the chills. Had he really created her from his own psyche, pens and ink? Or had she always existed out there in the ether, waiting to be called into existence? Melissa interrupted Sullivan’s preparation for a bout of navel-gazing via seizing him by the chin with two fingers. “You. Are. Coming.” “No, I’m not.” As she breezed past him, Sullivan shut the door. “I haven’t come with anyone but my friend, Mr. Hand, for forty-two days. One more afternoon wasted and we’ll make it forty-three. Oh, Jesus, is that another piercing?”
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Melissa grinned and posed for Sullivan. “Two, actually. One stud through each cheek.” “Ah, come on, Lissa, you’re killing me here.” Sullivan collapsed on the couch. “I get letters from people these days saying your face looks too busy. You’ve got, what? Labrets, a nose button, God knows how many holes in your earlobes, and now cheek piercings?” “So I’ll take them out when it’s time for you to draw me.” Melissa shrugged. “The tattoos are non-negotiable, though.” Sullivan had always wondered, but never dared ask… when she went under the needle, did Melissa bleed ink? “Sometimes my life is a little too surreal even for me,” he confessed, sprawling out. “Let’s forget the park, huh? We can stay inside and I can play connect the piercings.” “Asshole.” Melissa swatted him with her free hand. Then, with a grin, she shook Sullivan by the shoulder and sat down by his side. They twined fingers and rested their heads together. “We have a weird relationship.” “You, me, and the rest of the world.” “Melissa, technically you don’t exist.” “I feel pretty much like flesh and bone to me. I think, therefore I am.” “Yeah, and that’s what worries me. I mean, I feel the burden of responsibility for your existence here, and you’re playing rebellious teenager. I’m still a young man, you know.” “Sully, how old are you? Thirty? Do we need another lecture on grown men not acting like little shits?” “Fifty is plenty for one lifetime, thanks.” Sullivan yawned, stretched, stood up and went back to hunting for a shirt. “By the way, why are you half-naked? Sully!” Sullivan paused in the middle of a sniff test. “What did I do now?”
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“Jesus, Sully, you look like you’re dressing down to be a wino. Speaking of which, did you shave at any point during the last week, or just decide to see how long the beard would grow before you could comb it?” Rising up on tiptoes, Melissa ran a hand through Sullivan’s curls and made a face. “Nice oil job.” Sullivan put his hands on his hips. “You always were a sweet talker. Park or not, Melissa? You want me there, this is how I’m going. Time’s a wasting. I’ve got deadlines, remember? One of which features you in a moonlit soliloquy on the plight of the modern strong woman just looking for a decent guy. Neither of us has all day.” “Yes, we do, because you have all night to draw to your heart’s content. Besides which, you are not leaving this studio looking like something dragged backwards through a hedge. Besides, deadlines, shmeadlines. You’ve got a dead life. And I’m not gonna be caught dead with you looking like you do right now.” Melissa raised one sneakered foot, making the move somehow elegant and imbued with more sexuality than anyone should be able to possess. “Do you get moving, or do I get kicking?” Damn, I did good work when I drew her, Sullivan thought. Ooh… breasts. If there’s a percentage of cock lacking in my life, I could be persuaded to taste those ripe Georgia peaches. “Say what, now?” “You’re getting cleaned up.” Melissa clicked two fingers together. “Right now. I can wait.” Sullivan sagged against a wall. “Ah, come on, have a heart. I already told you sunlight makes me melt.” “No, a guy with a tight ass makes you melt. The park makes me happy and showers make you clean, which it looks like you haven’t been in a while. So go, hose yourself down, find some clean clothes -- and then, we go.” Sullivan eyed Melissa, who gave him The Stare back eye-for-eye. There was a reason he’d named her The Bitch. Thing was, they both knew she wore it as a label of pride -- even if the matching personality meant she took no shit from anyone. Saying no to Melissa just didn’t happen. Besides which, it did occur to Sullivan that he might be smelling a little… fragrant.
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“Okay, okay. You want me fresh as an Irish spring morning? You got it.” Sullivan rummaged around for a clean towel, and accepted the shirt and jeans Melissa fished out of the closet for him. “I am so pussy-whipped.” She quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not a bad thing, when you’ve got the right pussy. Now move it, buster.” “Whipped,” Sullivan repeated, heading into his small, partitioned bathroom. Or rather, he wasn’t being whipped and hadn’t been for -- yep, count ’em again -- fortytwo days. To make things worse, he’d feel way too naked and on display in the shower to even have a quick whack-off to improve his mood. Oh, happy day. Turning on the water, Sullivan was pleasantly surprised to find it warm instead of cold, and more of a stream than a trickle. You never could tell in buildings old as his. “So, check the new layouts!” he shouted over the water, reaching for a bar of soap that -- aw, crap -- had belonged to Michael. He replaced the innocuous green chunk for a white one. “And don’t bitch about my singing if I start.” “Me, complain about your voice? You jest.” Sullivan heard Melissa making her way around to his enchanted drawing table where she’d be examining the inked sheets. “Crazy Joe does the debutante, again? Come on, Sully, show a little originality.” “I can’t help it if my romantic spark isn’t firing these days.” Sullivan sluiced himself down, hesitating when his hand brushed his cock. In all seriousness, if he’d thought Melissa would go anywhere near the idea, he’d have taken her to bed months ago. Bi-lateral as they came, baby, and he’d drawn her as his feminine ideal. All those curves begging to be played with, tattoos to be traced with fingers and tongues, piercings to investigate… Sullivan looked down to see he’d gotten hard. Frantic, he turned the water up to max -- damn the heating bills -- and started pumping his shaft, hoping for a quickie. He’d come out clean and with a smile on his face. Images slid through his mind as he stroked his cock, thumbing the ridge at the base of the fat mushroom head, feeling his fingers slip and slide over trickles of pre-come.
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Melissa, with her ripe lusciousness. The man he’d seen the night before, autumn and gray. Oh, yeah. The man. The man and Melissa and Sullivan himself for good measure, having a fine old time in his bed. That’d show Michael. Damn all exes to the seventh level of Hell, anyway. “Are you whacking off in there?” Sullivan meeped. He pumped harder. “No way. Wouldn’t dream of it.” “Liar. Hey, if you can concentrate on something besides your own dick for a minute, what’s up with this balcony I’m supposed to stand on? We aren’t in ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ Sully. This is the big bad city.” “So?” Sullivan pictured Melissa spread out naked across his sheets, the autumncolored man curling up beside her, sucking at one full breast. She lifted her hand, beckoning Sullivan to join them on her opposite side. He fell into the bed, reaching out with his hands -“So add a little grime, man, a little down and dirty.” Through the shower curtain, Sullivan could see Melissa do a nasty little shimmy with her hips. He groaned as softly as he could, squeezing the base of his dick. The slick skin felt diamond-hard beneath his touch. His balls had drawn up tight and hard against his body, ready for blast-off. Oh, this would be a good one. All he had to do was hold the explosion off for a few more seconds -- just enough to get a good tidal wave built up -“You do my landscape right, and I might think about doing you,” Melissa said, arching to look back over her shoulder. Sullivan came with a strangled shout. When his vision cleared, he found himself leaning against the wall of his shower, breathing heavily. “Were you -- were you serious?” he panted. “Maybe. Maybe not. But now you’re a much happier man, so clean up and let’s go to the park.” Melissa flipped her hair over her shoulder. Sullivan could all but see the saucy wink he drew her with. “Could be today’s a lucky day to go for a walk.”
Chapter Three “Melissa, you have a real way of throwing a man’s love spuds on the barbecue, don’t you?” Sullivan resisted the pull of his friend’s hand. “Come on. This is a family area. There are children around. Where is this eye candy of which you spoke? I’m looking, but I don’t see any.” “Men! So impatient,” Melissa chided. She tugged at Sullivan. “Just enjoy being here. Live in the moment. Can you do that for me?” Sullivan reluctantly let go and stood for a moment, taking in the world around him. He hated to admit it, but after forty-two days of near-isolation being outside had taken on a distinctive charm. The sun shone down on them but not too warmly, and a slight breeze ruffled the pages of the drawing pad Melissa had allowed him to bring. Tousled his hair, too, but he didn’t give the locks a second thought. Wash and let dry was his motto, with a finger-combing if things got out of hand. Hadn’t ever hurt him before with the ladies -- or the gentlemen. He grinned. Especially the gentlemen. Speaking of which… A tall, built blond was approaching Sullivan and Melissa on the sidewalk. Dressed in a courier uniform, he spiced the look up with a swinging pair of shades. Sullivan made eye contact as the man passed, waited a few beats, then looked back to find tall, blond and gorgeous stopped, waiting for him. Oh, yeah. I’ve still got the It thing. All the same, it was definitely a case of ”no can do” while he had Melissa by his side. Cruising was off-limits when you already had a fine companion on your arm, no matter how tempted he might be. Sullivan grinned, gave a nod to his friend, and mouthed the word, “Later.” The blond nodded with a smirky smile and went on his way with his package. Also, the parcel underneath his arm.
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“Don’t think I didn’t just see all that little play-by-play,” Melissa remarked, giving Sullivan a friendly elbow to the ribs. “You were so hot for him.” “I was not.” At her disbelieving look, Sullivan protested, “He had the looks going, sure. But would I leave my best buddy all alone while I chased down a piece of ass?” “Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.” “Or the last.” Sullivan caught Melissa’s hand, marveling at how small it felt in his own, how finely-boned, and thanked God she wasn’t punching him with a closed fist for taking liberties. “Not today, though. Today, it’s just you and me, baby.” “Maybe.” Melissa swung their hands. “Maybe not. It all depends.” She gave him a slanted look, eyes sparkling. “Could be someone gives me The Eye, in which case I’ll drop you like the proverbial hot potato. Weren’t you talking about BBQ spuds just a minute ago?” “How quickly you turn on me!” “Take it easy, cowboy.” Melissa stroked Sullivan’s hand with a thumb. “I’m not planning on going anywhere. I’m even going to take things easy on you. See the big oak tree, right over there by the lake?” “I do, and delightfully enough, it appears to be without visitors beneath those spreading boughs. Dare I hope?” “Hope away, buddy. We’re headed beneath the shade.” “Ye-e-e-s!” Sullivan punched the air. “If I can’t be in the studio, at least I’ll have a nice shady spot to lurk in.” “Less lurking, more relaxing. I want a portrait of me in the dappled sunlight.” “I don’t know about the dappling. You could come out looking like a Palomino.” Sullivan hesitated. “I’m not sure I can do you justice outside of the drawing board and ‘On Fire,’ Lissa. What if I don’t have the magic touch away from my table?” “Trust me, sweetie. You have what it takes in spades.” Melissa leaned up on tiptoe and kissed Sullivan’s cheek. “Last one to the shadiest spot is a rotten egg!” “Hey, it’s only wide enough for one!”
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Sullivan ended up parking his ass on a bulging root of the oak tree, while Melissa, laughing, stretched herself across the Navajo throw she’d borrowed from Sullivan’s apartment. She raised herself on one hip and elbow, thrusting her breasts forward, and pouted at him. “Go ahead, big boy. Draw me bad.” Sullivan’s mouth went dry. “Yes, ma’am.” His hands shook as he reached into his artist’s satchel for a charcoal pencil. Flipping the drawing pad open to the first blank page he found, he began sketching Melissa’s tempting outline. He sighed in relieved contentment as the lines began to flow. You could take an artist out of the art room, but… so he always found himself twitchy when he drifted too far away from paper and pencil. He always carried a small can of hairspray to use as a fixative. What? He didn’t want his drawings getting smudged. He drew Melissa’s breasts in with loving detail, right down to the soft nipples just visible beneath her tightly-fitted midriff top. She’d clock him for the artistic license later, but for the moment, he’d take his chances. Forty-two days. Jesus. Melissa turned onto her back, ignoring the proper modeling etiquette of holding a pose. She knew Sullivan knew her body, and he didn’t need the real thing to go by. Shading her eyes with one hand, she looked up at the sky, then grabbed the paperback novel she’d brought along with her. A romance, by the looks of the cover. Sullivan grinned as he drew and Melissa read. She seemed to be getting impatient with the pages’ contents. As his sketch drew to a close, she started flipping through the pages, hunting down the ones which had been dog-eared from what he could tell. As he added the final bit of shading, she tossed the novel aside. “Sheesh. Everything fades to black and what they do manage, I’ve already done better. Someone should write a story about me.” She waggled her tongue. “Dear Penthouse…” “Asshole!” Melissa swatted at Sullivan, but all the same she was laughing. “You done? Can I take a look?” Sullivan shrugged and turned his sketch pad around. “Et voila. What do you think?”
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Melissa lay quietly for a moment, studying herself draped like an ingénue in the semi-sunlight. “You have a gift, sweetie,” she said quietly. “Never let anyone tell you differently.” “I’ll try.” Sullivan gave his friend a fond smile. “Do you want this one?”
“Save it for me. I’ll find a frame next shopping trip out.”
“You must really like the rendition, then.”
“Could be a gift for a boyfriend.”
“Nah. You’re single right now, just like me.” When Melissa remained
enigmatically silent but grinning, Sullivan pressed, “Aren’t you?” “Oh, give a girl a break.” Melissa tucked her hands behind her head and sighed. “Yes, I am alone. So utterly alone. Emo, emo, blah, blah, blah. Someday our princes will come, Sully. Some sweet day.” Prince -- or princess. Sullivan looked around for more things to draw. He didn’t spot anything more interesting than a bunch of kids feeding some lake mallards, and they didn’t inspire him to artwork. Landscapes were hotel-room art when he tried them. Give him flesh. Warm, willing flesh. Flesh that shifted beneath his fingertips, muscles quivering at his touch… “So, tell me again, what’s the countdown now?”
Sullivan scowled. “I forget.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Don’t make me say it again, Melissa.”
“Countdown.”
“Forty-two days, as you well know,” Sullivan grumbled. “Go ahead, rub it in.”
“I’m lacking the necessary organs,” Melissa said lazily.
Nah-uh, you’re not. “I don’t get the situation, you know?” Sullivan said, tap-tap-
tapping his pencil on his art pad. “I mean, look at my track record.” “You’ve been there and done ’em all,” Melissa agreed. “From punk to rockabilly to yuppie to beatnik. No sense in being overly selective. You play the field.” She aimed a slow smile at him. “Even jumped the fence a time or two.”
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“Or three. It’s not so much what kind of dangly or non-dangly bits a person has,” Sullivan explained. “It’s who they are that matters. And selective, no, not me. How do you know you only like grape jelly on your toast if you’ve never tried peanut butter and honey?” He tapped some more with his pencil, creating a staccato rhythm. “But then there was Michael.” “Oh, God.”
“Just one of his angels, or close enough I couldn’t tell the difference.”
“Until he turned out to be an asshole.”
“Hey, we were tight up until the end.”
“Tight in the end, from what I overheard next door every time he came over…”
“Michael meant a lot to me.” Sullivan sighed. “Not a single ounce of brain in his
big head and way too happy using the smaller one, which was not small at all, let me tell you.” “So I’ve heard. Over and over again.” Sullivan ignored Melissa and let himself wallow in -- no, savor -- the memories. “Nothing like an older man, though. One who knows what he’s doing.” “Yeah.” Melissa plucked a few blades of grass at random. “Shame he decided he’d rather go back to doing it with that Sammy guy. At least, not behind your back.” Sullivan pointed at her with the sharp end of his pencil. “Bitch.” “That’s me.” She yawned. “Who was it after him? Oh, that’s right. No one.” “For forty-two days.” Sullivan went back to tapping his pencil. “I’m about to blow, Melissa. Mount Vesuvius is in imminent danger of explosion.” “Chill, friend. We could talk about the next issue of ‘On Fire.’ Maybe art will cool your blood.” “No, no, no. Art is all about passion, my friend. Sex on canvas. Lust on paper. Looking at art is making love with your eyes.” “Damn, you make cartoons sound sexy.”
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“I can make anything sound sexy, given the right motivation.” Sullivan leaned forward. “For example, the light on your hair right now makes you look like a goddess.” “Really?” Melissa shook her head. “Halo?” “Got it in one.” This is seriously twisted, but I want to go to bed with someone I drew. More than that, though, I want to keep our friendship intact. I’m having a philosophical conundrum over a person made out of India ink. This is too weird even for reality TV. “You are one foxy lady, you know, Melissa?” “I so am.” She preened. “Always looking for someone who appreciates me, too. Like you should be. It’s been forty-two days since Michael left, and I can still smell that weird sandalwood soap he used in your bathroom. He left a bottle of hair gel on the windowsill, too.” Sullivan shrugged. “Yeah, I know. Couldn’t bear to toss ’em out, though. They’re like tangible evidence that once upon a time, someone wanted me enough to leave a few things over for when he stayed the night.” “Aw, Sully…”
He made an uncomfortable gesture. “Well, it’s true.”
“Sweetie, you have to just get back on that bike and keep riding.”
“I could, if I were just looking for sex, Melissa. I’m not. If all I wanted was a hot
one-night stand, I’d have followed Mr. Courier back there off to his truck and made wild monkey love among the stacked-up parcels. Alternatively, I could go to a bar any night and order some meat to go for the alley.” “Geez, sounds like fun.”
“Hey, I’m a catch,” Sullivan retorted, stung. “Young, hung, and pretty.”
“Can’t deny any of the above.”
“So, you’re saying I could snag a man if I chose.”
“Going back to my getting back on the bike theory…”
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“So maybe my dress sense is a bit off, and maybe I need reading glasses, but hey, they’re Lennon frames, and I keep my hair in this nice, sexy bed-head condition. I jog, when I remember to --” “And when you’re not holed up being a ‘method artist’ --” Melissa made quote signs with her fingers. “But even then, there’s a set of weights in the studio, and they don’t exactly gather dust.” Sullivan held up an arm to display his muscles. “Not bad for a geek, huh?” “Sully…” Melissa reached out to touch his ankle, her fingers curling around the warm skin. “You’re not a geek, okay? You’re a genius. Hell, even I read your daily blog, and I know ‘On Fire’ better than anyone. Now, if you’d write the novel I keep telling you to…” “Oh, so we’re back on the topic of me writing more than a panel’s worth of words again, are we?” “All’s I’m saying is you should give the long form a shot.” Melissa wriggled her shoulders. “And at the risk of repeating myself, it wouldn’t make you a geek. Novelists are hot. Ask anyone.” “Stephen King makes you horny?” “The man knows how to make pretty words,” Melissa mused. “Also, not afraid of a little bump and grind along with his crunch and munch. Yeah, I’d do him. I’d do you in a heartbeat, if I thought you’d swing my way, too.” Sullivan almost swallowed his tongue. “You’d -- you what?” Melissa waved with one hand. “Things would never work out, though. Friendship first, right?” She patted Sullivan’s foot. Sullivan choked back his disappointment. “So what about Anne Rice?” “Ooh. Tough call. She’s got that weird Goth thing going on, but Lestat is definitely beddable. Plus, have you ever read the books she wrote under another pen name?” Melissa made a ”rrawr” sound and undulated on the blanket in a manner fit to make Sullivan gulp. “I wouldn’t go after her, but her characters, definitely.” She
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winked. “Say, why don’t you draw me up a vampire love interest? I could go for a nibble.” “You’re shitting me.” “No lie.” Melissa sighed. “I’m getting lonely, Sully. It’s been longer than fortytwo days for me, and a lady needs someone to keep her company. Well, besides her best friend, anyway. You do fine on your own. I need someone between the sheets, though, and I don’t mean the funny papers.” “Melissa…” “But that’s me, hon. My sex train has been derailed for the time being. You, on the other hand, have no reason not to keep on traveling. Get laid, and soon, before you drive me crazy.” “Christ!” “What? A little frank talk from The Bitch gets your balls in a knot?” Melissa raised herself on her elbow and gave Sullivan a cheeky grin. “We, my dear, are going to find you a man. This is a mission of top priority.” “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.” If I can’t have you… “Find me someone, then. Anyone who’s not just looking for a fuck and a suck and a ‘call you later’ which they don’t mean.” “Mmm.” Melissa rolled over onto her stomach, kicking her legs idly. She propped her chin on one hand. “Gotta be someone who fits your description around here today. Maybe even in the park right now.” “Not as far as my eyes can see.” “Then you’re just not looking in the right direction. We need to expand your scope of vision.” Uh-oh. Melissa had a certain Look in her eyes, one that never failed to scare the ever-lovin’ shit out of Sullivan. She was Planning Something. “Melissa, if you stand up and announce to this park at large that I’m looking for something in a tall male, I swear I’ll draw you in a nun’s habit.” “No, you wouldn’t.” Melissa wiggled her ass. “You drew me to be a bad girl. But seriously, on a day like this in the big city? There’s gotta be lots of gorgeous man-meat
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strutting itself around here.” Her gaze roved and roamed as she flipped onto her other side. She lifted a hand and pointed. “What about him?” “The balding guy by the roses?” “No, you doofus. Him. Underneath the maple, right across the way. Lying down. Possibly napping. Mattressable, n’est ce pas?” Sullivan refused to look. “Melissa…” “Lift your head and gaze upon the beauty, baby, ’cause I think you’re gonna like what I found. Looks like a prize to me.” Melissa looked over her shoulder at Sullivan and licked her lips. “I could just eat him up, myself, but I’ll give you first shot. Sully…” she teased. “Come on, just one peek. You know you can’t say no to me.” Damn him, he couldn’t. Sullivan sighed, laid his sketch pad across his knees, and glanced up at the man in question. And froze. Hair like autumn leaves, long, lean and gorgeous body, wire-framed glasses. The man he’d met at the bar, the one who’d haunted his dreams both day and night. The man he’d fantasized about when taking himself in hand. Right there. Within arm’s reach -- so to speak. Still staring, Sullivan reached down to pat Melissa on the shoulder. “Lissa?” “Yeah, sweetie?” “I love you.” She winked. “I know. Now go get ’im, tiger.”
Chapter Four “Not yet, not yet.” Sullivan couldn’t take his eyes off the man. Seriously, the guy scored a 10 in the book of hotties, yet he wasn’t what you’d call classically attractive at all. No Michelangelo’s David, and not a GQ kind of dude, but hot? Sullivan whistled. This guy was smokin’. He’d thought so the first time he saw the man, and time had not altered his perception. “What you mean, not yet?” Melissa pushed at Sullivan’s knee. “Go, tiger, go!” “I have to draw him.” Sullivan flipped his sketch pad back open. “In case I screw up the meet, or he’s not gay. I have to have his picture down on paper.” He gazed at the man, drinking in every detail. Tall, maybe even a little taller than Sullivan himself -- long, strong legs encased in soft khaki Dockers that molded to his calves -- God, what calves -- casually crossed at the ankle. Shaggy hair the color of autumn leaves. Silver-rimmed glasses. Chiseled jaw, great cheekbones. A mouth made for kissing. No telling what sort of chest he had, as his button-down hung loose and a teeny bit baggy, but nice and leanly muscled would be Sullivan’s guess. Definitely no beer belly. Good, long arms, with enough corded bulk in them to get Sullivan’s attention roused with no trouble at all. Mmm, he did love a long tall drink of man. “Awfully kind of you to point this exquisite specimen of manhood out to me,” Sullivan drawled as he began to sketch. “What caught your eye first, the book at his side -- Gone With the Wind, unless I miss my guess -- or the utter hotness that he personifies?” Melissa wrinkled her nose. “Would you believe me if I said ‘the book’?” “Nope.” “Okay, okay. I noticed the hotness. He is seriously cute, isn’t he?” Melissa tilted her head. “If he’s straight, I call dibs.”
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“If he’s straight, I’ll turn him.” Sullivan rubbed out a line with his thumb and darkened a shadow in another place. “Or I’ll beg him to pretend. I’m not too proud to get on my knees.” “That’s for damn sure.” Melissa paused. “Or so I’ve heard.” “Through the walls of our apartments,” they finished together. “I don’t think he’s straight, though,” Melissa remarked after a moment. “Double earrings.” “Which means nothing nowadays.” Sullivan kept scribbling. “You have doubles.” “Yeah, but so do plenty of straight men. Not a valid clue as to his orientation. Oh, damn, he moved.” Sullivan’s mouth went dry. “Oh… damn.” The man had drawn one leg up, knee in the air, foot on the ground. The visual went straight to his cock via his eyes, and he took a brief mental vacation to Fantasyland. “Mind out of the gutter. Concentrate on the bigger picture.” “Believe me, I am.” “Sully, be serious. A guy like this one, he looks like he’d stick to the old signals.” Melissa frowned thoughtfully. “He looks kind. Gentle. The kind of man you’d like to come home to. Maybe someone who’d help you cook up a nice dinner for two before falling into the couch for a little snuggling time before the wild orangutan love. Not Mister ‘Oh, I Had a Bad Day And Now I’m A Monster, Oh, Baby, Let Me Make It Up To You.’ Ring any Michael-shaped bells?” “Thanks for the unwelcome reminders.” Sullivan frowned as he drew the lithe length of the man’s arms, loose at his sides, his hands open as if to embrace the sun, the day, and the light. Yeah… Michael had had a temper. He’d never hit Sullivan, mind, but they’d had a few close calls. Enough to make a guy wonder. “I know I’m better off without him. But forty-two days… Jesus.” “You are truly one sad wanker.” “Not really. I love to love, you know? I don’t feel like I’m whole unless I’ve got someone to be all schmaltzy with. To bring a rose home to every now and then, cheesy
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as the notion may sound. To cuddle with, as you say, on the couch. To fuck, or to make love to.” “Mmm. Maybe you’re not so much horny as you are just plain lonely.” Sullivan considered Melissa’s words. He nodded slowly. Yeah… lonely fit the bill. This man, this tranquil man who reminded him of autumn, looked like the kind of man he wanted to have in his life. Gorgeous. Restful. Easy on the eye and delicious as maple sugar both in bed and out of it. Trouble was, he had no idea how to make the first move. Forty-two days out of being romantically involved in any way, shape or form had thrown him a little off his stride unless something bold and brash was involved, and he couldn’t see himself doing a walk-by cruise of this guy. Sullivan didn’t think he was much good at starting things that didn’t involve ink and paper. Even Michael had made the first move. “Don’t tell me you’re shy.” “Fine, I won’t,” Sullivan said absently. He’d almost finished with the drawing, working on catching the dreamy, thoughtful look on the man’s face… Melissa poked him hard in the leg. “Would it help if I told you I knew who he was?” she asked, her face alight with mischief. Sullivan decided to be proud of himself and the effort it took not to shout. “You what again, now?” “I know him.” Melissa waggled her feet. “He’s a librarian at the downtown branch. I go there every couple of weeks in search of a romance novel with some decent sex. The guy knows his literature, even if he does go for the classics instead of the modern genre.” She lowered her voice, teasing Sullivan. “He’s British. An expatriate. Has this gorgeous soft, rumblepurr voice. Does story hour for the kids. They love him. Hell, I’ve listened in to The Little Engine That Could a time or two.” She licked her lips. “Oh, yeah. I could so eat him up with a spoon.” “And you couldn’t have told me this in the first place?” “Nah. It was more fun to watch you get all horny yet sweetly baffled over what to do.”
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“A nun’s outfit, I’m not joking. Demon woman.” “And proud to be one.” Sullivan made a last pencil stroke, and the sketch was done. He’d got that much of the guy, at least. But then he was left with tapping his pencil on the sketch pad. “So you could… introduce us? You know his name?” Melissa nodded. “Jonathan. Jonathan Marsh. He doesn’t mind me calling him by his first name.” “You call him Jonathan?” Sullivan pounced. “You’ve spoken to him? Like, oneon-one? Not as in, ‘here are your books, have a nice day’?” “Spoken to him. Conversationally, even. We had coffee in the library café one time when all the other tables were full.” She turned thoughtful. “As I recall, you were still with Michael at the time, but even then I couldn’t stop saying to myself -- there’s the guy for Sullivan.” “Thoughts are one thing. He hasn’t seen me yet. Us.” Sullivan’s heartbeat sped up. He hoped the racing pulse meant rising excitement and not the impending threat of a coronary. A guy this hot and sweet-looking was a prize to be carefully won. He had to move with caution and muster up all the charm he had at his disposal. “Maybe you could make with the, I don’t know, introductions?” “I could.” Uh-oh. Sullivan knew the tone of Melissa’s voice all too well. She wanted Something. “How much?” he asked, resigned. “You give The Bitch a full storyline instead of a moonlight soliloquy. Something with a love interest and a nice open ending that could lead to future encounters.” “You’d seriously be satisfied with a man made of ink and paint?” Melissa’s eyes turned sad. “What else am I? I look real, I talk real, and I feel real, but you drew me, Sullivan. I’m beginning to think I can only find my match on paper. So do this for me, and I’ll get the two of you hooked up.” “Melissa, hon, if you’re lonely…” “Hey, I can deal.” She held up a hand. “Do we have a bargain or not?”
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Sullivan glanced at Melissa, all lush curves, drooping shoulders, and hopeful eyes -- then across at Mr. Autumn, drifting away in the peace of the afternoon. “We do.” “Done.” Before Sullivan could stop her, much less get an idea of what was on her mind, Melissa rolled up to her knees and shouted, “Jonathan! Hey, Jonathan! Long time no see, man!” Gray eyes snapped open as the man turned his head toward Sullivan and Melissa. In the moment it took for him to recognize Melissa, Sullivan was gone. And he’d been wrong. Coronary. Only way to explain the shortness of breath, right? Right? “Melissa,” Jonathan called back, folding himself up. Was he gonna -- looked like he might be -- ohgodohgodohgod -- he was coming over there. “You’ve not been in for at least two weeks. Have you been well?” “Right as rain, my man.” Melissa sat back on her heels. “Just decided I’d try out the new line of racy novellas I found online, is all.” “Really? Are they any good?” “Some of them? Seriously smokin’.” “You’ll have to give me the URL’s.” Jonathan’s grin was loose, warm and easy. As he listened, Sullivan prided himself on keeping it casual and not staring as Jonathan abandoned his own blanket to walk over with a brisk British stride and join them. “May I?” “My ratty ground cover es su ratty ground cover, babe.” Melissa patted an empty corner of the blanket. “This is my best friend, Sullivan. Sullivan, meet Jonathan. Jonathan, Sullivan.” “I’ll sit on a root, thanks ever so.” Sullivan couldn’t help noticing, as the man grinned, that he had the cutest little laugh lines forming at the corners of his eyes. Must be good-natured. Jonathan turned toward Sullivan and offered his hand, a gorgeous, long-fingered hand. God, but Sullivan loved long fingers. His palm felt dry and cool.
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“Pleasure to meet you,” Sullivan managed, shooting a sideways glare at Melissa. This was her idea of being subtle? Then again, you ask a girl with multiple piercings and tattoos for an introduction and you’re not likely to get Emily Post… “Sullivan’s last name is Whitfield,” Melissa chirped. “He’s an artist. You ever see the graphic novel collections of ‘On Fire’ come through your library?” Sullivan blinked. Bedamned if Jonathan’s gray eyes hadn’t lit up from the inside. “Really? You’re that Sullivan Whitfield?” He smiled at Sullivan, wide and warm. “I’d no idea you had such a famous friend, Melissa. I’d have asked to meet him before.” Gulp. “You’ve, ah… you’ve read them?” And not recognized Melissa? Sullivan picked at a spot on the oak tree’s root. A bit of dirt came off in his hand. “I mean, you liked them?” “Very much. I have the collected anthologies at home. They’re a bit, well, racy for the library, but I try not to miss an issue.” Those gray eyes twinkled, and Sullivan fell just a little bit harder, a little bit deeper. This guy? Definite keeper. Now, all he had to do was make the right moves. Dear God in Heaven, please don’t let me screw this up. ’Cause -- hot. Holy. Damn. Jonathan glanced at Sullivan’s sketch pad. “Are you drawing today?” Oh, shit. “No,” Sullivan said, at the same moment Melissa piped up with, “Yes.” “Nothing important,” Sullivan prevaricated, tucking the sketchbook under his folded arms, in his lap. “Just a bunch of doodles.” “All the same, may I see?” Jonathan ventured, looking hopeful. “I really am an awfully big fan of yours.” Sullivan mentally scrambled. There was no way he could let Jonathan take a look at the picture of himself, because the more he thought about the sketch, the more he realized he’d been dreaming subconsciously about fucking the subject while he drew. The picture was wank material, not art. He couldn’t let a bit of inappropriate lust be Jonathan’s first impression of him.
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What about appropriate lust, then? “I did this sketch of Melissa a few minutes ago,” he offered, flipping back a page. “Here. What do you think?” “May I?” Jonathan took the sketch pad carefully and stroked the carefully drawn lines with reverent fingers. “Melissa, you truly are a lovely woman, but he’s rendered you as a goddess.” Sullivan winked at his friend. “See? Told you.” “This is extraordinary. Look at the way you’ve captured light and shadow. And are those new piercings, Melissa? Turn your head toward me and let’s have a look.” Melissa posed proudly, and Jonathan nodded in approval. “I like them. Definitely not a style every girl could carry off, but those accent your dimples.” And you’ll see them in the next issue of “On Fire.” I can’t believe you don’t recognize this woman. “Do you have any others?” Jonathan asked, fingers hesitating over the edge of the page. “Ones I could look at?” “I, uh, I --” Sullivan started to fluster. “Not really.” “Nah.” Melissa shook her head. “But he has plenty at his studio. You could always go home with Sullivan to take a look at his etchings.” Gray eyes fixed on Sullivan’s. “As a matter of fact… I’d like that.” Hommina, hommina, hommina… And to make him even cuter, Jonathan blushed a faint pink before he asked, “I know this is forward of me, and really, I’ve no idea if you’re inclined this way -- you are awfully private about your personal life in your bios and blog -- but would you happen to have any plans for dinner tonight?” Geez, let me think. “I was planning on Ramen a’la microwave, but even if I’d had duck l’orange waiting courtesy of my publisher, I’d take you up on the offer.” Jonathan blushed a little deeper, and Sullivan fell a little further. Jonathan was hard in all the right places, but soft and sweet, peaceful and patient, shy and gentle. Sullivan did more than lust after the man. He liked Jonathan.
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Sullivan’s cock liked Jonathan, too. Maybe a little too much. Down, boy! Sullivan thanked his lucky stars he was wearing his loose jeans. “Dinner at my place?” he offered. “I’ve got all those etchings, after all.” Jonathan smiled at Sullivan again. “Shall we meet somewhere first?”
“You name it.” Sullivan flinched. “Oh, shit. Sorry. Shit.”
Jonathan started to backpedal. “I’m sorry. I’ve pushed you.”
“No, it’s not that at all.” Sullivan ran his fingers through his hair, snarling in a
tangle. “You’re not going to believe this, but I’m broke. I put all my advances and royalties into investments and the stock market, and I leave myself enough to buy rent, food, paper, ink, all that stuff. I’m sort of low on the ready, it being this near to the end of the month.” He hoped he didn’t look as hangdog as he felt. God, someone like Jonathan deserved a dinner at the best restaurant in town. With luck, Sullivan could only hope to whip up a portion of canned pasta in alarmingly orange sauce and serve it on ceramic. “Trust me… no.” Without thinking, Sullivan’s hand came out, bypassing any consultation with his brain, and caught Jonathan by one slim wrist. “This isn’t a brush off.” The warmth returned to Jonathan’s eyes. “It’s all right, Sullivan.”
“Call him Sully,” Melissa chipped in.
“May I? Sully? Or do you prefer Sullivan?”
“Either is fine,” Sullivan answered truthfully. Both sounded great in that warm,
crisp accent. Listening to Jonathan talk was like biting into a harvest apple -- rich, delicious, and sweet. “Do you go by Jon?” “Not if I can possibly help it.” Oh, now they were laughing, and that was good, right? Sullivan realized he still hadn’t given Jonathan’s wrist back, but rather than letting him go, took a snugger hold. A peek at Jonathan’s face told him this was the right maneuver.
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“And I don’t mind if you’ve no fine dining on the menu. I’m a librarian, Sullivan. I’m not exactly rich. What would you say to some microwaved popcorn with, perhaps, a movie? I’m quite good with the extra butter flavor, or so I’m told.” Slippery. Sweet. And cozy. A first date, but Sullivan was good with cozy. A movie, likely watched from the comfort of his loveseat. Popcorn in one bowl, so their fingers could dip in at the same time and touch. The possibility of buttery kisses. Sullivan looked at Jonathan -- really looked at him -- and could tell the man wanted this. Really wanted a night with the artist in person. Not because of what he did, but because of who he was. Sullivan, a decent guy, and a possible love interest. So, yeah. He would gladly do cozy. “Etchings,” Melissa stage-whispered. Sullivan shifted uncomfortably. “I do have a lot of art displayed around the place. A studio apartment. Pieces I made when I was back in my oils and canvas stage, before I moved on to the graphic novel phase.” “I’d hardly call your success a phase, but please don’t think I’m interested in you for the sole reason of ‘On Fire.’ Coming over to look at your art and share an evening sounds lovely.” Sounded like he really meant the words. “So, it’s on the corner of Spiritchurch and Pine. The red brick building with the ironwork balconies. We both live there -- Melissa and I. Not in the same apartment or anything, though,” Sullivan hastened. “We’re neighbors.” “As well as friends.” Jonathan looked as if he approved. Sullivan decided he liked the expression on Jonathan’s face. “So, could you be there around, say, eight-thirty?” “I can and will. And now it will be… oh, drat.” He checked his watch. “My lunch hour’s nearly over, and I’ve got to get back to the library. Until tonight?”
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“Until tonight,” Sullivan said -- and then, figuring the hell with it, leaned across to brush a kiss over Jonathan’s tempting lips. “Promises to keep,” he whispered, pulling away. Jonathan’s eyes glowed. “I’ll hold you to those,” he said, standing up. “Melissa, it was a pleasure. We’ll have to have coffee again soon.” To give her fair credit, Melissa waited until Jonathan was out of earshot before she started laughing fit to kill, poking Sullivan like a spring gone wild. “Told you! This guy’s made for one man, and that lucky asshole is one Sullivan Whitfield. But I warn you, if you’re loud enough to hear across the hallway and I’m kept up by the sounds of ‘oh, God, Jonathan’ and ‘Sully, Sully, Sullivan!,’ you owe me more than one storyline. I want my own mini-novel.” “Graphic or prose?” Sullivan asked suspiciously -- mostly because he hoped he’d be paying up. “I’ll go easy on you. Graphic. But with lots of prose. Get all Shakespeare on my ass, and let me be a lady for once, okay, sweetie?” “You? You’re never a lady.” Sullivan slid down onto Melissa’s blanket and kissed her forehead. “But as to the bet, I should be so lucky as to win.” He stared after the gorgeous man’s back, and yes, because he was shallow, Jonathan’s really shapely ass. Melissa touched Sullivan’s arm, growing serious. “Sully, listen to me, OK? All kidding aside, a guy like Jonathan is shy, but you can read him. He’s interested. Really interested. More, he’s a keeper. You listen to Sister Melissa, now.” She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Treat him like a prince, fuck him like he’s a god, and you might be in some green pastures here, my friend.” Sullivan felt warm, both inside and out. Happy. The itch and ache which had plagued him for forty-two days were both gone. “What do you know,” he murmured. “Thanks, Douglas Adams. It really is the answer to life, the universe, and everything.”
Chapter Five The warm light of the summer sunshine and the gentle breeze worked their unique brand of magic on the typical male, and Sullivan fell asleep after a few more passes of idle conversation. Bet he’s dreaming about Jonathan, Melissa thought as she watched her friend. Melissa didn’t consider herself to be an introspective type. By nature, she was “The Bitch” -- the voice for strong women everywhere. Less navel-gazing, more ballbusting. When it came to Sullivan, though, she had a weak spot, and every now and then she took the opportunity to study the man, her creator, and wonder about the deeper questions. Where did I come from?
Where will I be when he’s gone?
Do I stay young forever while he gets old?
What happens when he finds someone he likes better than me?
What kind of freak has a cartoon for a best friend, anyway?
Melissa sighed. “Sully, you’re about to drop your sketch pad,” she murmured, reaching up to grab the book out of his drooping hands. “I know how much you hate getting mud and crap all over your work. You did some fine drawing today, sweetie.” She turned to the picture of Jonathan, studying his fine English features and the way Sullivan had captured the warmth in his smile and eyes. Grinning as she recognized the lush style which meant Sully had other things on his mind besides getting the subject down on paper. Then, even though she knew she shouldn’t, Melissa turned back to the drawing of herself. It felt odd to be looking at a rendition of a living cartoon, like holding two
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mirrors up side to side and watching the reflections go on forever. This Melissa wasn’t alive because she hadn’t been born on Sully’s enchanted drawing board. What if she had been, though? I think, therefore I am. She’d sprung into existence with all the knowledge of her character, and what she hadn’t been ”born” with she’d learned. Some of -- okay, most of it -- the hard way. Life had plenty of hard knocks to hand out, and she’d taken her share of punches integrating herself as an honest-to-God human being. One of which would be knowing her best friend, the man she wanted more than anything, looked at other men and saw beddable material. He looked at Melissa and saw buddy. Wistful, Melissa traced the lines of her drawing with one finger. Sully really had gotten her down to a T. More of a portrait than a simple cartoon. A reflection of life itself. Sexy life, if she did say so herself. Melissa wiggled her ass playfully as she touched her penciled breasts, hips, and thighs. She tickled her own feet and giggled. Sully had drawn her in the same lush style, but what the hell? Devotion to art. Melissa knew better than to settle in on a long wait for a train that wasn’t coming. More, she wanted the best for her Sully. She wanted him to be happy. So, she’d found him Jonathan. Sully could never achieve real contentment with anyone he’d drawn, much less someone just mattressable. Melissa had looked high and low for the right man, and come across him all unaware when checking out a book. One look, though, and one listen, and she’d known -- this was Sully’s man. And if she couldn’t be Sully’s queen, she wanted her sweetie to have a prince. Melissa turned back to the drawing of Jonathan and studied the lines again. Oh, yeah. Sully had fallen hard and fast. Jonathan, too, if the normally reserved librarian had taken a kiss in broad daylight without so much as a blush or a stammer. Invited himself over for dinner, too, no less. Shifting back and forth between the drawing and her sleeping friend, Melissa thought about what the two of them would likely be doing that night while she sat curled up on her futon, reading something spicy on her PDA. Maybe they’d just
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snuggle on the sofa. Jonathan was definitely willing to do that much at least, and who couldn’t use a good cuddle? Melissa figured Jonathan to be about as lonely as Sully. Sure, her sweetie hid the emptiness well under his jokes and his new trip about forty-two days, but he had a hole inside which could only be filled by another person -- a matching puzzle piece. From what she’d seen in Jonathan and Sully’s eyes, they’d found something they recognized - the need for someone to hold. Or more. Melissa’s smile turned wicked as she upped the heat on her personal vision of how the night would go down. Sully would turn the lights down low, and sit by Jonathan’s side, way too close to pretend at being casual. Invade Jonathan’s space in the way a man had which said, I want you, and I’m going to try and catch you. He’d take off Jonathan’s glasses and set them aside. Jonathan would look at Sully, his gray eyes full of questions, and Sully would grin at him, knowing all the answers. Even if her sweetie were a little nervous, he’d be taking the initiative. Mmm. Maybe he’d put his hand on Jonathan’s thigh, gently massaging his muscles. Melissa could just feel the hardness under her own hand. She flexed her fingers and closed her eyes, losing herself in the fantasy. Sully would lean over and touch Jonathan’s lips with his own. He’d let the moment linger, nice and slow. Maybe he’d let his tongue probe across the seam of Jonathan’s lips until they opened for him, letting Sully in. Melissa would bet Jonathan was a good kisser. He just had a look to him, and the fullness of his lips promised naughty goodness. A mouth made for loving, the way it curved in a smile which could get any man to come-hither in a heartbeat. They’d keep on kissing, lips roaming over lips, until Sully left Jonathan’s mouth and roved down his throat, his neck, and slowly undo the buttons on his shirt until he found a smoothly muscled chest to nuzzle. He’d suckle on the nipples like sweet blackberries to see how sensitive they were. Melissa bet Jonathan would react like wildfire.
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Things would be moving fast by then, probably way too fast, but Melissa knew how hard Sully would be. She opened and closed her hand, imagining she held the length of his cock. She had a good imagination. Her pussy began to grow wet. She wiggled, rubbing her legs together. Keep it together, girl. You’re in a public park. Didn’t mean she couldn’t keep on enjoying her little mental play-by-play, though. Melissa sighed, focusing on the pretty, pretty pictures her mind obligingly brought up for her viewing pleasure. Now, where was she? Oh, yeah… nipples. Flat male nipples, the kind that fascinated a lady. And moving beyond them onto better, definitely bigger things. Jonathan’s breath would be coming in fast jerks, and Sully would be right there with him. They’d be making those male noises, soft grunts and groans, maybe some soft cries of “Oh, God, yes.” They’d be able to tell they wanted each other with no need to wait, never mind only meeting hours before. Sully would take Jonathan’s cool, dry hand in his own and lay it over the bulge in his jeans, and he’d put his own hand on the hard swelling of Jonathan’s cock. There’d be a patch of dampness where Jonathan’s prick was already weeping for Sully’s touch, desperate for the feel of skin on skin. It would be Sully who’d make the next move. He always did have a bold touch. God, to feel those artist’s hands on her own cunt, drawing the lines with his fingers instead of pencil and ink… but no. Melissa dragged herself back to the vision of two men together. No girls allowed, and definitely not one who technically didn’t exist and might as well not even be alive as far as those two would be concerned. Sully would draw down the zipper of Jonathan’s jeans and slip his fingers beneath the man’s boxers. Melissa liked boxers on men. Maybe fitted Jockey shorts. Either, or, both were good by her. She caught her breath, almost able to feel the full, heavy weight of Jonathan’s cock in her palm. No turning back then. Sully would whisper into Jonathan’s ear, nipping at the lobe, suggesting they move things over to the bed.
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Melissa wasn’t sure what would happen next, but she was having the time of her chosen life dreaming about the magic moment. Could be they’d make out like a couple of randy teenagers, dive-bombing the bed in their hurry to get at one another’s bodies, Sully dragging Jonathan over himself and rubbing up against the man, still in their clothes, but with dick pressed against dick. Both moaning, combing fingers through one another’s hair, the sweet friction enough to drive them crazy. Or, even better, they’d take the time to strip off one another’s clothes. Melissa moaned softly to herself as she pictured Sully taking off his T-shirt, the muscles of his chest gleaming with a light sheen of sweat matching Jonathan’s own when the last of the buttons came open and his own shirt fell off. Jeans would disappear as if by magic, boxers would be wriggled out of, and they’d lie naked for a moment, frozen in the wonder of feeling each other so intimately. Then -- then -- they’d get raunchy. Back to hot, wet, deep kissing full of groans and prayers, begging each other for more, more, more. Jonathan would tear away and start to roll onto his stomach, his ass eager for the feel of Sully’s cock filling it, but no, Sully would press him firmly down on his back. Sully would want face-to-face, to see who he was fucking -- no -- making love to. There’d be lube close at hand, the self-warming cinnamon-scented kind. Melissa had smelled it before when Michael, might he go to hell, had spent the night. Sully would open the container and spread some over his fingers. Fingers would slide down Jonathan’s full balls, stroking and caressing, across the strip of skin beneath, and down to the tight pucker in his ass. Sully would be desperate by then, barely holding himself together. He’d dip down and suck Jonathan’s cock into his mouth, tasting the saltiness unique to men. Melissa had given a few blow jobs in her day, and she knew how good the weight and taste could be. Jonathan would be sweet, as if he drank a lot of pineapple juice, musky and salty. Tart on the tongue. Sully would moan around his mouthful while Jonathan dug his fists into the covers, crying out Sully’s name.
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Right around then, thanks to the thin walls, Melissa would abandon her spicy story and spread her own legs, fingering her eager clit with smooth, circular motions. She’d dip her fingers into her hungry pussy and then bring them to her mouth, tasting her own unique female flavor, wishing she were sandwiched between the two men. No. Focus. Melissa knew Sully would take the time to find a condom and tear it open with fingers that fumbled and shook with impatience. He’d do everything right -- her sweetie could not lay a finger wrong. And fingers, oh, yeah, the fingers would come back to Jonathan’s ass, probing inside his tight little pucker. Stretching him with one, then two, then three, listening to him beg and moan, wanting Sully inside him more than life or breath. Still careful, still going slow, Sully would poise his cock at Jonathan’s entrance with one hand and reach up to grasp fingers with the other. He’d push inside, ever so gentle, while Jonathan started to babble words running into one another, riding the crest of a sexual high. Sully wouldn’t stop until he was seated to the root, their balls resting together. Then, he’d stop, touch Jonathan’s face, and they’d share one more sweet kiss. And next, oh, next, they’d start fucking in earnest. Thrusts hard enough to bump the bed against the wall. Calling out each other’s names, not caring who heard. Melissa would have three fingers in her own sopping cunt by then, her face contorted with the orgasm of her life coming on. Sully would come, shouting out words which meant nothing at all, and Melissa would ride the wave with him, pussy clenching around her fingers, gasping for breath and never, never, never wanting the feeling to stop… Oh, God, I’m wet. If only I could be there with them. Sully buried in my pussy and Jonathan deep in my ass, two sets of strong male hands gripping my breasts. We’d come in a shuddering rush, surprising ourselves with the power of our joining. And we’d know, really know, we’d found something good. Something which would last forever…
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Melissa dragged herself back to reality and stared at her sleeping friend. “You don’t have any clue what a good time you’re in for, do you?” she whispered, not wanting to wake him. “I can’t work magic, even though it’s the means by which I exist. But what I’ve just dreamed, I wish for you, this very night. Even if I can’t be a part of the fun, I want you to wring every drop of joy out of your first time with Jonathan.” She dabbed at her eye. Damn it, her kohl was running. All the same, she went on. “I want you to feel the sure certainty that you’ve got someone who’ll be around for life. Someone you’ll grow old with.” Melissa swallowed. “A guy who’ll be with you long after I’m gone. Because I’ll move on, you know? I love you to pieces, sweetie, but I can’t be there, watching you so much in love and not eat myself up with envy. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, and sometimes that means letting your heart break.” Gazing up at Sully, Melissa patted his foot with one hand, the one he’d inked her first tattoo on. Some things a women never forgot. He’d been the man to mark her, and she belonged to him, even if he’d never know. “You rest well, sweetie,” Melissa said quietly. “Tonight’s gonna be the best ever. Just you wait and see.”
Chapter Six It never ceased to amaze Jonathan, the mental image that most people had about librarians. They pictured his breed to be made of up of women who had reached “a certain age,” their graying hair wound in tight buns and a pair of rimless spectacles worn on a chain around their necks. They were meant to stay firmly put behind a solid wooden desk all day long, ink pad and stamper at the ready. Checking books in and out with a narrow, disapproving scorn for anyone with the gall to want a volume from their stacks. Of course, they’d go home at night to cold and narrow beds, never having been married or having involved themselves with the rougher half of their species called “men.” Perhaps a dinner of tuna shared with a cat would be the highlight of their evening. They were less women than they were constructs of catalog cards. These days nothing could be further from the truth. There were a few of the old breed left, to be sure, but recent years had seen a massive turnover in staff as the retirees moved out and the young, newly trained moved in with their computers. Jonathan was one of them, with a master’s degree hung securely on the wall in his tiny office. He ranked higher than a cubicle, and at times like these, when he could barely conceal the fact that one Sullivan Whitfield had aroused him beyond bearing, he found himself deeply grateful for the luxury. Granted, he’d earned the additional privilege of a mostly undisturbed office space by being a constant source of bafflement to those around him. Women complained that Jonathan was “cute.” but “far too shy.” Men thought him “way too pretty” -- for good or for ill -- and again “too shy to be any fun.” They’d no concept of British reserve!
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As for how he saw himself? Jonathan had never quite gotten a handle on any self-construct. He could break himself down into categories. English, tall, young, intelligent, calm, bisexual -- but what did those terms really make of him? He wondered if it was this lack of knowing who he really was which had always kept him from forming any lasting attachments. He’d had dates, oh, yes -- few and far between. No one had ever turned him on as much as Sullivan did with one single kiss, and a grasp of his strong, artist’s fingers. Sully… Jonathan hummed to himself, caressing the word inside his mind. He’d had his eye on Melissa, finding her vaguely familiar in a way that comforted him, but when she introduced him to her friend, he’d fallen hard and fast. The idea frightened him a little. He’d never been in love, but he’d always longed to give romance a whirl. To find someone who enjoyed him for himself, not what they imagined him to be. Could it be he’d found it -- with Sully? Was there such a thing as love at first sight? Lust at first sight, he had the proof of, pressed hard against his belly. And to think he hadn’t planned on going to the park during his lunch hour. He’d meant to visit a bistro down the street and have a bowl of their homemade soup, possibly flicking through a newspaper hunting for cartoons. But the day… so beautiful… he’d been lured into turning left instead of right, and then he’d found such a lovely tree to lie under. Resting had felt wonderful in the middle of his hectic day. He’d watched the lake, letting the peace of the water sink into his soul. Gradually, though, ever so gradually, he’d become aware he was being watched. Not with hostile intent, but with warmth. Appreciation. Such a degree of the emotion he didn’t dare turn his head to see who was looking, lest he break the spell. Then, ah, then Melissa had called to him, and the moment had snapped into something even better. He’d looked at her with fond affection, then found his eyes drawn to her friend, and seen in the man all the heat and light he’d felt dancing over his skin moments before. Sully…
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To find out Melissa knew Sullivan Whitfield! He’d known the man was native to their city, but definitely not within his sphere of influence. A graphic artist on a meteoric rise to fame and fortune with his racy graphic novels written with all the dry wit of Oscar Wilde. A man envied and wanted by many, who’d been watching him. Wanting him. Where Jonathan had gotten the courage to ask Sullivan out he still had no idea. He’d never been so bold. He’d only felt a sort of desperation, as if should he miss this chance, he’d never get another one. Lady Luck had shined down on him, and now he had plans to go to the man’s studio in less than half a day! His heart thumped more quickly, rat-a-tat-tat, and his cock pulsed in rhythm with it. Dear God, he wanted Sullivan. A delicious shiver ran down his spine. What had Sullivan been drawing, that he wouldn’t show Jonathan the picture? Those eyes on him… had Sullivan found Jonathan attractive enough to sketch? The tiny blush he’d shown made Jonathan think perhaps he had. He closed his eyes and savored the thought, the muscles in his lower belly aching with a long, slow burn of pleasure. He’d never been drawn before. Would the picture be racy, risqué, perhaps show him in the nude? The world faded away as Jonathan imagined being drawn again by Sullivan’s long, nimble fingers. Perhaps tonight, at the man’s studio. Sullivan would undress him, slowly and gently -- not at all like an inconsiderate lover, all hurry and condoms, whiskey-scented breath and clumsy fingers -- but like a man who was sitting down to a gourmet dish. Yes… Sullivan would strip Jonathan bare, with lingering caresses over each inch of skin as it was revealed. Dropping kisses here and there, flicking his tongue out to taste nipples and navel. And would he… yes, dear God, yes, he’d run light, reverent fingers over the head of Jonathan’s dick, full and aching for want of Sullivan’s touch.
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A gentle squeeze promising better things to come. Being posed on a bed or a couch, knees raised and legs parted, watching Sullivan as he bent over his sketch pad and feeling the man’s hot, hot gaze scorching him… “Jonathan! Hey, Jonathan!” Jonathan jumped and gasped, quickly falling down in his desk chair and whipping an open periodical over his lap to cover his starkly outlined erection. One of his associates -- Thomas? -- peered curiously through the crack of Jonathan’s door. “We could use some help at the checkout terminals. I don’t know where the crowd is coming from, but we’re swamped.” “Yes -- yes, of course. I’ll be right there. I just need to finish --” Jonathan gestured to his lap covering, which, thank God, happened to be a catalog he’d been making book selections from earlier for updating the shelves. Thomas shrugged. “No big, man. But don’t take too long, ’kay?” “I shan’t,” Jonathan reassured. The word got him a raised eyebrow, but Thomas gave Jonathan’s doorway a pat and without any awkward questions, he was gone. Jonathan breathed out a sigh of relief. Good God, if he’d gone much further with his fantasy over Sullivan he’d have embarrassed himself right on time with Thomas’ interruption. Probably come right in his pants like a horny teenager with sex choking his brain. Speaking of which, Jonathan’s prick was pounding in time with his pulse, and he could feel that his fitted shorts had grown a damp spot. Keeping his breath under control was beginning to be a difficulty. God, he ached to take the edge off. Did he dare…? They needed him at the checkout. He’d have to go. But, God, he couldn’t -- not yet -- he had to -Oh, the hell with this! Stealthily, Jonathan shut his door -- a violation of policy, so he prayed that please, please, please, no one would notice -- stood up and leaned his back against the faux wood veneer -- and unzipped his loose khaki Dockers to pull his cock out into his hand.
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He exhaled raggedly for sheer relief, every nerve ending alive, making him hyperaware of the weight of his prick, and the tightly drawn-back foreskin. His balls felt full and heavy, drawn up tight against his body. Definitely past the point of any return. In for a penny… Deliberately, ferociously, he began to think about Sullivan and what might happen after the sketch he’d been dreaming of. What if Sullivan put down his pad of paper… approached Jonathan… went down on his knees… slipped warm hands up his thighs… slid a heated mouth around his member… oh, God! Jonathan pumped himself hard -- once, twice, three times -- gave a violent shudder which rattled the door -- and came, spilling thick, hot liquid into his palm. Struggling to control his breathing, not to pant, he let the seed drip between his fingers onto the linoleum, wishing he were decorating Sullivan’s skin with the creamy stripes. Oh, no, there had been no way to stop himself from having his bit of fun. This had been inevitable since the park. He imagined Melissa standing behind him, patting him on the shoulder, saying, “Yeah, I get you, sweetie. He’s something, isn’t he? I told you you’d like my friend.” Oddly enough, it didn’t seem strange to picture the tattooed young punk there at that moment. For a brief second, Jonathan had a flash of Melissa going down on her own knees, her warm, wet mouth surrounding his cock and licking him clean. A sharper, more vivid mental flash came of spreading the woman out on his desk and diving face-first into her pussy, dripping wet and intoxicating, startled Jonathan into letting go of his cock. What was wrong with him? He preferred monogamy. Lust after one or the other, not both, he told himself sternly. It’d been his plans to talk to Melissa over another cup of coffee, but Sullivan had been the one to make the bolder move. So, with a small sigh of regret, he put away the picture of Melissa laid wide open for him, cupping and rolling her full breasts, moaning with pleasure, and… stop it, man!
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Shakily, when Jonathan felt his legs would bear his weight again, he moved toward his desk and grabbed up a handful of tissues. He wiped himself clean and tucked his cock away, then went to work on the floor. He’d have a hell of a time explaining come on the library’s linoleum, wouldn’t he? This had been nice, oh yes. The upcoming night would be far, far better. He’d go over to Sullivan’s, presumably to watch a movie and talk about art. Would the studio be dark and shadowy, or brightly lit? Dark, he hoped. Would Sullivan have a loveseat, a couch, or two friendly arm chairs? Dear Lord, Jonathan hoped for a couch, one bowl of popcorn, their arms and hands and thighs touching. He let himself dream of turning to Sullivan, both of them forgetting everything else for a kiss, a grope, a good hard handful of man, the touch of lips on lips and mouths on skin… He wanted Sullivan as he’d never wanted any other man. Only Melissa had ever been able to rouse his passions to such a point, but there again, Sullivan had been the bolder of the two. And that night, he’d have him. There was no mirror in Jonathan’s office, but he thought he was back to his normal self. Not too mussed, too flushed, and no longer hard. Presentable. Ready to work. Calm as he ever had been. For a moment. Then, Sullivan’s face flashed through Jonathan’s mind once again, and Jonathan shuddered with pure need. If for once in his life a wish could come true, it’d be this one -- that the dark-haired artist would fancy him, truly, and make their first date one to remember. That they’d be waking up the next morning tangled in one another’s arms. It wasn’t too much for a humble librarian to ask. Was it?
Chapter Seven “What time is it?” Melissa checked the watch dangling on a chain around her neck. “About fivethirty, and the sun is getting long over the yard-arm, or whatever the hell they say. Time to pack it up and head home.” Sullivan stood up, stretched and yawned, then winced. “Did I get sunburned? Oh, God, please tell me I’m not all pink and crackly.” “Nah. You’re just a little more evenly browned. Toasty is a good look on you. Besides, you were shaded for most of the day. No worries.” Melissa stood, folding her blanket under one arm. “Gotta be getting home, Sully. Time to prepare for the big date tonight.” “Date. Holy mother, a date.” Sullivan grabbed Melissa’s arm excitedly. “Forty two days and the streak has ended.” “With a home run, no less.” “You’re telling me. Mmm, man.” Sullivan half-closed his eyes and swayed. “Have you ever seen anything so fine come this way before?” Melissa glanced sideways at Sullivan. “From time to time,” she answered noncommittally. “Well, I haven’t. He’s got balls, too. Inviting himself over? Oh, I like this. Initiative is a good, good thing in a man.” Sullivan rubbed his hands together. “I have a date. Tonight. With a man who sounds like brandy wine, looks like autumn, and has the best hands I’ve ever seen.” “Outside of your own?”
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“Bar none, Melissa. I have to draw his hands doing -- everything. Holding a glass filled with red wine. Peeling an apple. Wrapping them around my…” He stopped and blushed. “Sorry. TMI, I know.” “I don’t mind.” Melissa wrinkled her nose cutely at Sullivan. He grinned back at his friend, patting her on the back. “Besides,” she went on, “it’s not like I won’t have a front-row ticket.” At his shocked look she added, “Thin walls, remember?” Her grin turned mischievous. “You two keep things down to a dull roar, or I’m selling tickets.” Sullivan felt his cheeks heat. “This is a first date, Lissa. I’m not sure anything’s gonna happen other than maybe a little snuggling.” “Ah, bull. A man can hope, can’t he?” “Yeah, but I have to watch that kind of thinking. Don’t want to get my hopes up.” “You’re still hoping all your dreams come true, though, right?” Melissa nudged him. “Oh, mama, am I ever. I am one giant walking strand of testosterone right now. Whoo!” Sullivan bounced. “A date, with a truly fine man, in my studio tonight -- oh, shit, Melissa, shit! The studio!” Sullivan didn’t know what kind of shape it was in, but he did know he’d been forgetting to sweep, dust, pick up after himself and throw away the trash for, oh, right around forty-two days, since Michael left. Melissa took Sullivan’s hand. “Yeah, I wondered when that little bit of knowledge was going to sink in.” “He can’t come over with the place looking like it’s been subject to a police raid.” Not that Sullivan could remember exactly what his home looked like. He dimly recalled vast piles of clutter over every available surface, and his drawing board with graphics spread all over it… “Fuck, Melissa, the other guys! What if someone pops his head up tonight and wants to know who’s knocking boots?” “So you are hoping to get some sweet action between the sheets,” she pounced. “I win!” “We didn’t make a bet.”
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“I still win. And I don’t blame you. With a catch like Jonathan, you’d be crazy not to thump him over the head and drag him off to bed.” Melissa squeezed Sullivan’s fingers. “And you’d have to tell him about the table plus the rest of our wacky crew sometime, you know -- if you wanted this to last, that is.” “I do. God, yes, I do. But not on a first date, Melissa! I want him to fall into my arms, not run screaming for the hills.” “Calm down, sweetie! Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go back into the pages myself tonight. Keep the masses entertained with campfire stories until you give me the all-clear in the morning.” “You’d do that for me?” Sullivan grabbed Melissa’s face with his free hand and planted a hard kiss on her forehead. “You? You are an angel, my friend!” “Yeah, yeah. Paint a halo and wings on me, take away the tattoos and piercings, and I’m a candidate for sainthood.” She winked. “So, we have a lot of work to do, huh?” “Say what again?” Melissa thwapped Sullivan on the back of the head. “Cleaning up your studio, dummy. That is, if you want it in decently habitable condition for the big d-a-t-e tonight.” “Son of a -- five-thirty. We’re never going to get done in time.” “Ease up, sweetie. We’ll fix things.” “Fix them? They are unfixable.” Sullivan dragged a hand through his hair. Fullon panic mode. Jonathan looked so neat and tidy, clean enough to eat off… ooh, eating off Jonathan. Gooood thought. He’d save the notion for later. When he’d stopped having an attack of nerves. “Melissa, we can’t manage everything in time, can we?” “Sullivan!” Melissa yanked him out of his daze with a sharp tug to the hand. “I can almost hear you screaming inside your head. Relax! Yeah, your place isn’t really fit for winos right now, but we can deal, ’kay? Scout’s honor.” Sullivan slowed down long enough to grin. “You were never in the scouts. Too much of a wild child.”
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“You don’t know everything about me.” Melissa raised an eyebrow. “I could have a whole rack of badges pinned to my wall.” “They hand them out for extreme ass-kicking skills?” “Big, shiny ones.” Melissa squeezed again. “Look, I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I’m a woman who knows how to take care of herself. A woman who knows how to take care of the place where she hangs her hat. For a small price, I’m willing to share my vast store of knowledge.” “Melissa?” “Yeah?” “I love you. I really, really love you. Can I kiss you again?” “Will you be closing your eyes and thinking of England?” Melissa teased. “Ah, ha, I see you blushing. That’s so sweet, Sully. Forty-two days and it’s like you’re a virgin again.” “Okay, okay. So being my friend gives you teasing rights. Does vice-versa extend to holding your hand a while longer for moral support.” “See, now you’re gettin’ greedy.” “Aw, come on! I promise not to clamp down or get sweaty palms.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look, sweetie, I’m glad to do this for you.” Melissa bumped her head gently against Sullivan’s. “But like I said, for one itty bitty surcharge.” “If you do, I’ll love you forever,” Sullivan swore. “How much?” An odd look crossed Melissa’s face. “I’ll let you know,” she said, turning away to look face forward. “Come on then, sweetie. Time’s wasting, and we have a landfill to shovel out. Chop, chop!” “I’m chopping. Lord, am I ever chopping.” Sullivan started to drag Melissa forward. “Onwards and upward --” “For glory awaits!” Melissa finished. With that, the two raced out of the park. Like kids, they played chase and tag all the way back to their cut-up brownstone, each one getting a little ahead of the other, then pulling back to a stop to tease the other into thinking they had a chance.
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Sullivan had never had so much fun in all his life. It’s nothing compared to what awaits, though, he thought eagerly. Jonathan. Sweet Jonathan. In my home, and hopefully, please, all ye patron saints of tilted men, in my bed tonight. Warm and ready between the sheets. My sheets. I’m going to make this a night to remember.
*** Six-forty five, and Sullivan was on his way back from lugging the last of the trash bags to the dumpster behind his building. Everything had gone -- every last reminder of Michael, every bit of accumulated bachelor lifestyle, from the pizza boxes to the empty shampoo bottles. Melissa had turned out to be hell on wheels. Give her a mission, and man, did she accomplish. She’d had some good ideas, too. “Sully, you might wanna stack the porno tapes somewhere out of sight. I mean, I know you’re a wanker, but no sense in letting Jonathan in on the secret right off the bat, yeah?” “Sully, get your ass over here and tell me what in this fridge is actual food and what’s art supplies!” “Sully? Meet toilet brush. Meet Lysol. Bring ’em together and scrub. I mean now, mister. You might not mind pissing in there, but ten out of twelve cockroaches vote antennae down -- you get me?” Sullivan pounded up the steps to his apartment, bursting in to admire the clean sparkliness of the place. “I really do worship you, Melissa.” She glanced up from her examination of Sullivan’s bed with a grimace. “I make with the cleaning, and then you start in with the love? Seems like you’ve got things the wrong way around, sweetie. Come here. No, here. Right by my side. Now, take a look at this wreckage and tell me what you see.” “My… bed?” At her scowl, Sullivan tried again. “The place where I… sleep?” “Uh-huh. Sully, grow the fuck up. This is not a grown man’s place of rest, and it is definitely not fit for human company tonight. You have changed the sheets since
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Michael left, haven’t you? Please tell me you’re not one of those sad fucks who kept the dirty ones on just so you could catch the occasional whiff of your ex.” “Uh…” “Oh, God.” Melissa covered her face with one hand. Metal jingled as she shook her head. “You strip the mattress. I’m not going anywhere near those things. They have Michael-cooties all over them. And, helpful hint? Ninja Turtles don’t exactly scream seduction.” “So I love cartoons.” Sullivan ducked in to kiss Melissa again, this time on her cheek. She ducked away from him. “I’ll check out your linen closet.” Pause. “You do have one of those, don’t you?” “Linen closet?” “Where the sheets live, Sully. Please tell me you do have another clean set of bedding. Satin too much to hope for?” Stripping off sheets and comforter, Sullivan shook his head. “I’ve never been a big fan of skidding out of bed onto my ass. Besides, you don’t get decent traction on satin.” Off her arch look, he shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, it’s true. And they’re a bitch to clean.” “Someday, I want to hear the stories behind this bit of knowledge. For now --” Melissa said as she tossed a set of plain black sheets at Sullivan, “-- make your bed, son, ’cause you’re going to have to lie in it.” “We can’t use the ‘Insert Queer Here’ sheets?” “Sull-i-van!” “Okay, okay!” Sullivan did know what he was doing, even if it had been a while, and within a few minutes his bed was neat and tidy. He caught a couple of throw blankets Melissa tossed at him and spread them over the top. Even plumped up the pillows, two of them, just in case -- please, God -- he got lucky and Jonathan stayed the night. Had to make sure the man-friend was comfy, yeah?
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Seven-ten, and Melissa was looking around with satisfaction. Sullivan, for his part, stared in disbelief. His darling girl had really pulled out all the stops, from dusting to finding candles, a really snazzy ceramic bowl for the popcorn, and wine glasses -- not to mention a decent wine to pour into them, without a screw-off top even. Even the microwave was spotless. Melissa, who’d found a tablecloth from somewhere, flicked the fabric open and draped it over Sullivan’s enchanted drawing table. Both winced at the sound of muted groans of disappointment and growls of anger. Sullivan had never dared block their entrances and exits before. “Should I get ready for the uprising now, or wait until the morning to panic?” “I wouldn’t worry about this crowd of jokers. I’ll cool them all down after I’m inside. Tell them a few stories, y’know, like I said I would.” Melissa winked and gave Sullivan a sassy hip shimmy. “You wouldn’t dare.” “Watch me. Oh, no, wait, you won’t. You’ll be too busy staring into Jonathan’s eyes, or at other portions of his definitely edible anatomy.” “Are you lusting after my possible boyfriend? And hey, with the table covered, how do you plan to get inside?” “You think a little cotton weave can stop me?” Melissa frowned in seeming concentration, then dipped her hand through the tablecloth and into the depths of the table, her arm going transparent -- like lined ink -- up to the elbow. “See? No problems.” Sullivan looked at her as she withdrew, then made a lunge and grabbed his very own sweetie up in a hug. “Hey, hey,” she protested, not-really-fighting to get loose. “What did I do to deserve this?” “You’re the best, baby.” Sullivan ran a hand down the curve of Melissa’s cheek, nudging a loose wave of hair out of his way. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you. Like you said, I owe you big time.”
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“Eh, well.” Melissa looked down and shrugged. “Forget about the payment. Just have a good time tonight, okay? And I mean that. Best you’ve ever had.” “I think it’s a given.” Sullivan tightened his arms around Melissa. “Brace yourself!” She squealed as he whirled her around in circles, crossing the small space between drawing table and bed, then dumped her unceremoniously in the middle of what they’d just made up to look perfect. Melissa laughed, easy and free, as she lolled on her back. “Why, Mr. Whitfield. To what do I owe the honor of a visit to your very own sleeping chambers?” “You never did this with a friend?” Sullivan propped himself on an elbow, reaching out to touch Melissa. Funny how he always wanted to run his fingers over her skin. He marveled again at the strange magic which had touched his life, turning a one time fantasy of a tough, punked-out woman into a living, breathing best friend. Then, he shivered, realizing how quickly she could change back. Not from ashes to ashes, but from ink to ink. “Hey.” Melissa tilted her head, a soft smile touching her lips. “What’s the serious look for?” Sullivan laid his hand on Melissa’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? Not even when I’m too old to see the drawing board and my hands have too much arthritis in them to draw.” Melissa glanced down. Sullivan shook his head. “I mean it, Lissa. Don’t think I could stand living by myself if you took off for the wild blue yonder. I could draw you from memory, could even make another you on the special table, but it wouldn’t be the same. Whoever the cheap imitation would be, she wouldn’t be you. It’s you I need in my life. You’re the person who knows me best and still manages to love me.” “Yeah.” Melissa reached for Sullivan’s free hand but stopped just short of the appendage, trailing her fingers along the edge of the throw blanket. “You too, sweetie.” “Aw, Melissa.” Sullivan’s heart sank. “You are, aren’t you? Going to leave, I mean. You’ve already got things planned out. Maybe even have a bag packed.”
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She shook her head. Sullivan could see her eyes glittering with unshed tears. Sniffling, she dashed them away. “No more room at the inn, Sully. You’ll have Jonathan around, and do you really want to explain me?” “I’ll have to, if he’s a keeper. He needs to know about the table. And you --” “Are a figment of your own precious imagination, Sully,” Melissa whispered, still not touching him. “I think, therefore I am. Maybe when I’m far enough away, I’ll stop thinking. Maybe I’ll just crumble into a pile of graphite dust, and I’ll be at peace.” “Melissa, no. Do not talk like that. I mean what I’m saying here.” Sullivan applied more pressure to his friend’s shoulder, shaking her gently. “Get me?” “You won’t need me around when you have Jonathan.” She half-smiled. “He’s real, Sully. I’m not.” “What the hell does ‘real’ mean, anyway? You’re warm. You think, you talk, you breathe, you eat. Whatever brought you into this world, even if that’s my own hand, it wants to keep you here.” Sullivan loosened his grip to stroke up and down Melissa’s arm, marveling at the smooth suppleness of her tattooed skin. “I need you, Lissa. I’ll always need you.” “Not in the way I --” She stopped and shook her head. “Oh, God. Forget I said anything, would you?” “No.” Sullivan shifted closer, gazing at her in concern. “Melissa? Baby, talk to me. What’s going on inside that multi-colored head of yours?” When she refused to spill, he stroked further down, coaxing his friend with his fingertips. No good. More silence. He didn’t realize he’d landed on her hip until he felt it move under his touch, the joints flexing. He hadn’t felt the curve of a woman’s lush ass in ages, much longer than forty-two days, and the abrupt re-familiarization left him briefly reeling. Melissa felt so fucking good that the sensation startled Sullivan. He couldn’t quite take his hand away, either. The heat from her pussy tickled at the edge of his hand. He realized he could smell her, the warm, ripe femininity of her, and his cock began to grow hard with this new awareness.
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“Melissa?” he asked quietly. “Say something, please.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I can, sweetie.” “Why?” Sullivan moved his hand just a bit further down Melissa’s leg, seemingly unable to stop himself. The warmth of her skin was as intoxicating as her scent. He couldn’t understand himself. Melissa was a hell of a woman in every detail, and he’d had a few fantasies, but Sullivan had never come face to face with her in a really, truly, personally sexual way since she’d stepped off the drawing board. He’d never dreamed he would have the chance. “Melissa, talk to me.” “There’s nothing to say,” she whispered. “Sullivan…” “Melissa,” he said back, wondering at the way his own voice deepened. He didn’t know why he did what he did next, but only knew the move was right. “Come here, Melissa.” She whimpered as he drew her flush against him, full breasts pressing against his chest. He crooked one leg over both of hers and wrapped an arm around her back, bringing them close as possible. “Melissa,” he repeated. “Look up at my face. Can you do that for me?” Melissa peeked up, her eyes wet and darkened lashes spiky. Swallowing down a lump of nerves and summoning courage he’d never have thought he needed, Sullivan put two fingers beneath her pixie chin, angled her head just right, and laid his mouth over her own. Bam! Instant combustion. Melissa moaned when his lips touched hers, and her passive position changed from a woman in need of comfort to a woman in need of some sexual healing. Her arm twined against Sullivan’s, bringing him in tighter, her heated pussy pressed against his hardening cock. Their mouths roved over one another, Sullivan stunned but unable to help himself. Melissa tasted of peaches and wine, the way he’d always imagined. Tart by nature, but oh, so sweet. “Melissa,” he repeated against her mouth before slipping his tongue inside, moving with a stroking, gliding dance.
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Melissa made another soft sound of desperation and reached up blindly, somehow finding Sullivan’s hand and bringing it down to her breast. He cupped the swollen globe in his palm, amazed at the softness and firmness, finding her nipple, a plumped-up gumdrop, right in the center. When he tightened his hand, she moaned, a sound that went straight to his cock. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he managed to say before going back to her kisses, better than honeyed mead. “I shouldn’t -- I can’t -- Jonathan.” He broke away from her mouth and began to press kisses along her angled features. Slipping his hand inside her shirt -- his shirt -- he played with the ring through her nipple, tugging at the loop. She arched in his hand, pressing her cunt against his prick, letting him know how wet she’d gotten from only a taste of playing around. Playing? No, Sullivan didn’t think playing was the right word. He didn’t know what applied, though. Nothing fit. And then, Melissa was pulling away from him. She shook her head, multi colored locks of hair tossing on his pillow. “Sully, no. No. We can’t.” “Melissa?” Sullivan reached for her, but she drew back. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” Melissa sat up and flung her legs over the edge of the bed. She dashed at her eyes with both hands, then stood, avoiding Sullivan’s grasp, running toward the drawing table. At the edge, she paused to look back at him, the picture of Passion Denied, her breasts shaking with the force of her breath, her hair tousled into an artful fall of bright colors and curls, her nipples standing out beneath her pink midriff top. “Jonathan,” she said softly. “You’ve found someone already, Sully. I’m not him. I can never be him. And he’s the one you want, not me.” “Melissa --” “Don’t! Don’t make this any more complicated than it has to be.” Melissa blinked, a tear rolling down one of her cheeks. She brought her fingers to her mouth and blew him a kiss. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
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Standing up on tiptoe, Melissa jumped impossibly high into the air and did a swan dive down into the drawing board. Sullivan stared as she melted into inked lines, the toes of a cartoon disappearing down into the wood. He heard a sound of rushed, excited voices babbling like an incoming wave off the ocean, a slow ebb to silence, and then nothing. As for Sullivan himself, he lay on his bed with the taste of his best friend in his mouth, his cock hard and aching, and a sense that he’d just lost something immeasurably precious. And then, he heard a knock on the door. Glancing up at the clock, he saw the time. Eight-thirty. Jonathan.
Chapter Eight Sullivan had no idea of what to do. He’d been waiting for Jonathan, wanting only him, and now this -- this -- whatever had just happened with Melissa. Now Jonathan was there, presumably, and Melissa had vanished. What the fuck, man? Sullivan dry-washed his face and shook his head. I can’t just have ordinary problems, can I? For Sully, they bring out the extra-special exploding anvils. The knock sounded at his door again, a bit more tentative this time, as if the visitor wasn’t entirely sure of his welcome any more. Shit. Shit. He had to get up and answer. Even if his head were spinning, he couldn’t leave a guy like Jonathan out in the cold. “Just a minute!” he called, scooting off the bed. When his feet hit the floor, he winced. Bare. Damn it, he’d planned on socks and sneakers, something casual but friendly. Naked toes made him look like a slob or like he was desperate to get Jonathan into bed. Which actually, he was… or had been… no, still was… damn, his life had suddenly just gotten way too complicated. “Who is it?” Sullivan called, stalling for time. “Jonathan,” a soft British voice answered. “I’m sorry, Sullivan. Have I come at a bad time?” Sullivan yanked his T-shirt out of his jeans to cover the tent his erection made in his jeans, abandoned all hope of footwear, and padded over to the door. He caught sight of himself in a small mirror as he passed, and examined himself. Lips, not too kissswollen, okay. Hair, messy, but he never could get the tangled curls to lie straight. Good earrings in, chunky gold hoops.
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Was he ready? Oh, hell no. But why? Sullivan hesitated for a moment before his jaw hardened. There was no way he’d let this evening go down the tubes. Jonathan was a prize, a prince among men, and he deserved to be treated like the special guy he was. Whatever had gone down with Melissa would wait until -- later. Whenever later happened to be, when Sullivan could process things. Still, it was with an uncomfortable feeling of being a cheater that he pulled his front door open. Jonathan stood on the other side, dressed a little more casually than he had been at the park earlier in the day, with one of those ragged-neck light sweaters and a pair of soft-worn jeans. Sneakers. Damn it. His gray eyes warmed as they landed on Sully, who couldn’t help grinning back. Oh, yeah. Jonathan? A keeper. “Come in,” Sullivan invited, stepping back. “So, you found the place.” “Well… yes,” Jonathan said hesitantly. “You did describe the building and give me the street address.” Sullivan resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. Instead, he rotated his finger beside his temple and fibbed, “Sorry. Too many ink fumes. If you want to risk your olfactories, step inside.” Jonathan gave one of his soft smiles as he crossed the threshold. Sullivan’s knees went weak at the sight of the man’s expression. His eyes crinkled up at the corners, and his entire face lit with the warmth of falling autumn leaves’ color. He ducked his head shyly, and a lock of maple-colored hair fell over his eyes. Blowing it out of the way, he widened his smile to a grin. Sullivan decided and/or realized he wanted to lick Jonathan’s mouth. His cock agreed. Down, boy, down! You’re especially noticeable when sitting down in these jeans. This T-shirt isn’t the best cover-up. And while we’re having this conversation, do you think you could make up your little mind for a change? Melissa or Jonathan.
Melissa or Jonathan.
Melissa had gone. Jonathan was right there.
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Still trying to shake the feeling of doing something wrong, Sullivan slid his palm over the strong muscles in Jonathan’s back. “Glad you made it,” he said, honestly enough. “I could take you on the tour, but it’s really more of a spin. What you see is what you get.” Jonathan tipped his head back and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. He looked around himself, at the overflowing bookshelves, the covered drawing table, the impressionistic oil canvases decorating the walls, the framed photographs, and the candles Melissa had lit before they’d made up the bed. Their glow reflected off his face, warming the features. He sighed, sounding content. “This is lovely,” he said. “Just lovely.” The sound of his voice heated Sullivan up from the inside like a leisurely swallow of holiday cider, all cinnamon and spice. “It’s simple,” he tried to demur. “Kinda cluttered. I tend to collect… things.” “Do you?” Jonathan tipped his head in Sullivan’s direction. “I like your doing that. This place is you. I can feel your presence in every corner of the room. This isn’t just your home, this is where your heart is.” His eyes crinkled again. “Am I making any sense?” “Oh, yeah. Plenty. Your place isn’t like…?” “Oh, no.” Jonathan shook his head. “The apartment I live in… it’s a place to sleep, to eat, to shower, but it’s not a home. Never has been and never will be. There’s a charm to these old buildings, yes, but it’s more your presence that’s turned this into a haven.” “Door’s always open, all comers welcome.” If you only knew whereof I speak… thank God for the cloth over my drawing table. All we need is a visit from Crazy Joe. Sullivan rubbed the back of his neck. “And I just made myself sound like a diner featuring a bottomless pot of coffee. I must be boring you out of your mind.” “Oh, you’ve hardly bored me yet, Sullivan.” Jonathan stepped forward, spreading his hands. “The energy… such flow-through. Can you feel it?” Sullivan eyed the man warily. “You mean like, uh, vibes?”
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The word earned him a slanted look over one shoulder and an approving nod. “You mustn’t think I’m mad, but I have a talent for sensing the energies in certain places. People and objects leave certain traces behind them wherever they go, or happen to be taken.” Do not go near the drawing table. Do not go near the drawing table. Dear God, please don’t let him go near the drawing table. He went near the drawing table. Inhaling, Jonathan waved a hand over the unwrinkled white cloth. “You spend most of your time here, don’t you?” he asked. “I can almost see you bent over this board, ideas flowing out like water and wine.” “Damn, you’re a pretty talker.” The two men glanced at each other. Sullivan was the first to crack up laughing, and Jonathan followed shortly after. “All right, all right,” Jonathan said, chuckling. “I’ve given you all I have in my ‘eccentric’ arsenal. I’d say that as a graphic artist, you must beat me hands down.” “You have no idea.” Sullivan reached for Jonathan’s hand and was pleasantly surprised when the man took it, his palm dry and smooth. “Come on over to the loveseat. We can get comfortable while we talk, huh?” “Can I see your artwork from there?” Sullivan gestured around himself at the walls. “Panoramic view. Pick a canvas, any canvas, and we can dissect it down into paint-by-numbers if you like.” “Ah, I’m not so much of a pedant as all that.” Jonathan let go long enough to swing himself into the soft cushions, then leaned back. “May I?” “May you what -- oh, the shoes. Sure. Something to drink?” “Mmm, yes. Please. What do you have?” Sullivan glanced at the bottle Melissa had rescued from the depths of his kitchen cabinets. Dusty, old, good vintage. Probably something a publisher had given him once upon a time, which he’d put away for a rainy day and forgotten about. Definitely old, though. The writing on the label was almost illegible, more like a scrawl than a printed logo. “I’ve got this,” he offered, holding his potent potable up in suggestion.
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“Is it a good year?” “Don’t tell me you have a special affinity for wine, too.” “Not in the slightest.” The eyes crinkled. “It looks wonderful. I love dark reds. Rich, fruity, tart. Let’s have a glass together.” Sounded just about wonderful to Sullivan. He popped the cork of the bottle with the corkscrew Melissa had helpfully left out, poured the glasses halfway full each, and carried them over to his loveseat. Once there, he sat carefully, handing off one glass. “Here’s to you.” “And to you.” Jonathan took a sip. He closed his eyes in sheer pleasure. “Sullivan, where did you get this? It’s marvelous!” Sullivan took a taste himself, and almost choked. Wine? This wasn’t like anything he’d ever bought before, good year or cheap screw-top. He took another careful taste, wondering at the deep oaky flavor laced with sweetness and the tingling of ripe-to-bursting berries. If someone could have distilled the idea of a perfect bottle down to an art form, this would have been that wine. Wait a second… Sullivan turned his head and took a long, narrow look at the innocent bottle. So Melissa had found it, huh? A likely story. He remembered drawing her as a third-person narrator in a story one time, sipping from a glass of wine just like this. The bottle at her elbow had been old and worn, the outside dusty and the inside heaven. Oh, she’s sneaky. “Melissa gave the bottle to me as a present,” Sullivan said, then buried his expression in another long sip. Ye gods, the stuff packed a punch, didn’t it? “She enjoyed a bottle once upon a time, and thought she’d share the joy.” “Melissa, yes.” Jonathan turned to Sullivan with a youthful exuberance. “She’s a rather extraordinary young woman, isn’t she?” “Don’t think she’d thank you for those particular words of choice,” Sullivan pointed out with his wine glass. “Melissa’s one tough cookie, and she lets no one forget that she’s more than your everyday female.”
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“More of a femme fatale, then?” Jonathan rolled his wine around in the glass. His eyes sparkled wickedly. “Do you know, when she came marching into the library the first time I saw her, she nearly stopped me in my tracks. All that hair of hers in so many colors, the tribal tattoos, the piercings… and what occurred to me was that if she had been anyone else, I’d have classified her right away as a punk. Instead, I stood frozen, and watched her walk by with a swing to her hips stars of the silver screen would kill for -- and I knew, I’d just seen a work of art come to life.” Sullivan swallowed. “Really? You don’t say.” “Oh, yes. I still think so.” “Tell me more,” Sully said guardedly, watching Jonathan over the edge of his glass. Jonathan shrugged. “Well, of course I know she hasn’t stepped out of some modern masterpiece. She has a job, I’ve seen her with friends, and I know she likes mocha coffee. Even given her amazing qualities and effervescent personality, Melissa is as much a human as you or I.” He took a sip and sighed with pleasure. “How did you two meet?” “Over a drawing board,” Sullivan answered honestly. “There I was, working away, and poof! Melissa entered my life.” Jonathan nodded. He placed his hand lightly on Sullivan’s thigh. His fingers began to knead slowly and gently as he said, “For the longest time, I tried to summon up the courage to ask her out.” Sullivan blinked. “You -- her -- what?” “I’m sorry, I should have been upfront about my orientation. I’m bisexual,” Jonathan clarified. “I’ve been with an equal share of both fair genders. Although I must admit, the overall tally isn’t quite what you’d call legendary.” He made a face Sullivan had to laugh at. “I’m a monogamy-oriented sort of man.” “Yeah?” Sullivan rubbed his lip. “So why, after wanting Melissa all this time, did you choose to ask me out?”
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“I could lie and say I’ve no idea, although in part, that’s true enough.” Jonathan shook his head. “I only know when I saw you, something in my heart snapped like a rubber band, a resonant chord, and I knew, before I knew your name, we’d fit into each other’s lives like puzzle pieces. I had to meet you, and I did. I wanted to get to know you better, and I am.” He turned to Sullivan. “And you?” “A little less glorious,” Sullivan admitted. “Don’t get the wrong idea about me because I write deep and philosophical graphic stories. I’m just a guy. Pants on one leg at a time and everything. I saw you and I thought… well…” He stopped for a moment. “Puzzle pieces, like you said.” He drained his glass. “And here we are.” “Yes,” Jonathan agreed, carefully leaning forward to place his glass on the coffee table. He took Sullivan’s from him and lined them up side by side. Then, he turned to face Sullivan eye-to-eye. “And what will we do about the situation, eh?” Sullivan took a deep, hitching breath, feeling the lust he’d had on low boil all day come simmering up to the surface. “We could try this,” he suggested, bringing their mouths together in a kiss. Jonathan moaned something which Sullivan interpreted to mean “Good idea,” and damned if he didn’t think so, himself. Kissing Jonathan was nothing like kissing Melissa. Where she had been all softness and curves, Jonathan was hard planes and angles. A hand pressed against his chest yielded no full breasts, but only the slight bulge of muscle. His leg, when it raised to drape over one of Sullivan’s, felt strong and corded, much like a runner’s. Felt wonderful. Sullivan decided he should encourage initiative and reached around to grasp and squeeze one cheek of Jonathan’s ass. Providing the right stimuli got direct, delicious results. Jonathan slid his leg further over, then got on his knees facing the back of the loveseat. Mouth never leaving Sullivan’s, he did wicked things with his sharp nibbling teeth and agile, twisting tongue which made Sullivan feel light-headed. He raced to keep up, aware that this was going too far too fast, especially all things considered, but knowing himself well enough to realize he’d passed the point of no return, probably back when Jonathan entered the apartment.
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Jonathan moaned into Sullivan’s mouth and rubbed against him teasingly, enticingly. The position only allowed for the slightest bit of friction, but Sullivan could tell Jonathan’s cock was rising and swelling between his legs, its tip brushing against his own rock-steady hard-on, making them both gasp into the kiss that, until then, had yet to end. Jonathan pulled back, his lips pinkened. “Is this too much?” he asked breathlessly. “Too fast? We barely know each other, and I would understand if -mmmph.” No thinking allowed, Sullivan decided. Less talking, more kissing. Jonathan felt right in his arms, their bodies molding together as if they had been made for one another. He slid a hand up underneath Jonathan’s finely textured sweater, tracing each ridge and peak of trim muscle, using one fingertip to feel the light down of hair running from nipples to waistband. He hooked his questing finger beneath the snap of Jonathan’s jeans and was rewarded by a strangled groan. When Jonathan pulled back a second time, his eyes were wide and dilated with lust. “Shall we move this somewhere else?” he asked huskily, rocking slowly up and down on Sullivan’s lap. His own private dancer, and Sullivan loved every single bump and grind. Sullivan nodded. He had no idea what would happen -- well, no, he was fairly sure sex would be involved, he meant in the long run -- but he knew he wanted to take this man to bed. “Just over there,” he said, stroking down Jonathan’s arms, feathering his touch. “I’ll blow out the candles.” Jonathan gazed down at him, lips quirked ever so slightly in a smile. “One thing first, Sullivan. One thing first.” Later, Sullivan would blame his answer on lust and its typical effect on the organic male brain. “Anything.” Jonathan rocked up and down again. “The picture of me you were drawing today in the park,” he said breathlessly. “I want to see how you saw me. Show me how I look in your eyes, and we’ll compare art to reality.”
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Aw, damn. But then again, given the circumstances… “Okay,” Sullivan said, his throat dry. Where had he left… ah, yeah, right by the loveseat itself. He’d planned on doing another drawing while they shared popcorn or watched a movie. Talk about going straight to number one, though. Not that he minded, hoo no. With a little work, Sullivan managed to fumble the bulky sketch pad up onto the cushions they leaned against. “Second page,” he said, stroking the cover. “Go on. Have a look.” Jonathan pressed a brief kiss to Sullivan’s lips, then sat back on his heels. “Thank you.” He flipped open the cover, and between one breath and another, became utterly still. Not even his eyes moved across the lines. He could have been a statue for all Sullivan knew, frozen almost weightlessly across his legs. “Jonathan?” he asked, worried. “Hey, Jonathan?” Then, because he never did know what could happen in his apartment, in his crazy life, “You in there?” Jonathan blinked. “What? Oh. Yes. I just…” He traced a fingertip across the sketch of himself beneath a tree, real as life, redolent with sexuality. “This is how you see me?” “At first glance,” Sullivan said, taking hold of the other side of the pad and pulling the page down for both of them to see. “This is you, through my eyes.” “Tell me,” Jonathan murmured. Sullivan thought for a moment, carefully choosing his words. “Autumn. Warmth. Light. The grace of a jungle cat stretching out for a snooze. Sensuality. Down to your fingertips and your toes, this innate sexuality catching me off my guard and making my stomach knot up. The way the wind ruffled your hair, making me wish it were my fingers. The sense of… puzzle pieces.” “You drew me like a man about to make love,” Jonathan said, seemingly unable to take his eyes or his hands off the page. “Or a man you’d like to make love to?” “One and the same.” Sullivan dipped down to kiss Jonathan’s knuckles. “And I’d like to take advantage of the moment right now.” He let his good humor come up through his own eyes and grin. “You did promise. Remember?”
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“And I plan to deliver. I’ll just -- oh.” “Jonathan, don’t.” Too late -- he’d turned back a page. “What?” Jonathan blinked at Sullivan. “This is only the sketch of Melissa you did in the park. Your talent, Sully… it never ceases to amaze me.” He ran his thumb down the line of Melissa’s back, as if he were touching the dip and valley of a real woman. “She’s real as life here. Almost realer.” He frowned. “And somehow familiar, now that I see her picture again.” Sullivan felt himself break out into a sweat. “You’ve met her plenty of times. At the library, remember?” “No… somewhere else. Only now, I can’t remember.” A puzzled look on his face, Jonathan touched various spots on Melissa’s sketched body. “The expression… her mouth slightly open, as if she’s about to speak, or laugh… her hair tangled in the wind… where have I seen this sort of picture before?” Sullivan felt his own messy locks being ruffled. “Speaking of wind,” he said, glancing around himself, “did we leave the door open?” Jonathan raised his head, curiously tilted to a side. “No, it shut behind us. Is there a window ajar somewhere?” “Not that I know of.” Sullivan shifted up, Jonathan still balancing on his knees, the sketch pad between them. Prickles ran down his spine. Not quite somethingwicked-this-way-comes, but a definite sense of foreboding. He glanced down at the sketch, and then he knew. He saw Melissa move. Her right eye closed in a slow wink, and her lips shaped words he couldn’t read. “Jonathan,” he said, then, with more urgency, “Jonathan! Look, I have to tell you something. You’re going to think I’m insane, but bear with me, all right? Melissa is a… she’s a… oh, hell. You know my graphic novels. Think hard about them and tell me who she reminds you of.” Jonathan stared at the picture for a long moment. “Did this drawing just…”
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“I think so.” Sullivan took a tighter hold of Jonathan. “Better hang on. I don’t know what might --” A blast of wind burst through the studio, knocking the two men together. The cover from the drawing table flew off and wrapped around them. Swearing out loud, Sullivan dragged the thing off their backs and flung it to the floor. “What is it?” Jonathan yelled. “What’s happening?” Sullivan reached up and seized his almost-lover’s face in both hands. “Don’t say anything,” he ordered. “Just kiss me. Quick. Now. Please.” Their lips came together, sealing in a perfect, hot circle. Sullivan felt his cock surge as if new life were coursing through his body. Unheeded, the sketch pad fell from their joined fingers, fluttering open as it landed on the floor. The two men hung on to each other as the wind picked up speed, seeking solid ground in the kiss they shared, until suddenly, with a bump and a thump and the sound of tearing paper, the gusts of air stopped. Sullivan and Jonathan parted, staring at each other. “I know,” Jonathan said slowly. “Match the face to the face. I realize now where I’ve seen Melissa before.” They turned their heads to face the young woman sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, multi-hued curls tangled wild over her shoulders and down her back. She looked at them both and smiled sadly. “Surprise,” she said, as she had two years before. “It’s a girl.”
Chapter Nine “None of this is his fault, you know.” “Hm? Who? Oh.” Jonathan turned from his study of the night-time street to face Melissa, who’d slipped up behind him. She looked cold in her midriff top and thin shorts, but had wrapped a throw blanket around her shoulders. In her hands, she held two steaming doses of coffee. “Want one?” Melissa held out a mug. Jonathan hesitated. “Is it real, or was it once drawn on a piece of paper?” “Brewed ten minutes ago in Sully’s instant drip machine. Though I don’t blame you for asking.” She offered the mug again. “Come on, it’s chilly out here.” Awkwardly, Jonathan took the coffee from her. The mug felt wonderful cupped in his cold fingers, and while the liquid didn’t exactly taste like nectar and ambrosia -in fact, it was bloody awful -- it warmed him from the inside out. He took another sip, wondering if his stomach lining would survive, then a third. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Melissa. For this. I can’t begin to understand how you’re coping with the events of the evening.” She shrugged. “I was about to say the same thing for you, but a lot less pretty.” She gave him a sideways look. “My accent isn’t as good, either.” “Years of practice,” he said absently. Then, he laughed shortly. “I suppose you’d know all about learning from your environment, wouldn’t you? Being what you… are.” Melissa sighed. “Is there room for two leaning on that balcony rail?” When Jonathan nodded, she shouldered her way in, holding the mug between two hands that looked for all the world as if they were made of flesh and blood. She took a sip, and he watched the delicate muscles of her throat working as the coffee went down with a bump and a hitch.
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“This is awful. Why are you drinking it?” “To clear my head, I expect.” He felt her looking at him, the weight of her eyes as deep and penetrating as that of a mortal woman’s. Gazes like hers were one of the reasons he often as not preferred the company of men, he suspected -- women could, and would drive a man bloody insane without half trying. “Yeah,” she said, toying with her cup. “This is all a lot to take in, I guess. For a newbie. Not that I’d know. No basis for comparison, right?” “Pandora’s Box. Isn’t that what you said?” Melissa nodded. “More or less.” Jonathan took a measured sip of coffee. “Does that make you Death?” “God, no.” “One of the countless ills that plague the world?” “Not unless you count the people who think I’m going to hell because of the tats and hair dye.” “Then I hardly see how the original comparison is accurate.” More coffee, and the rewarding feeling of Melissa’s penetrating stare changing to one of wonder. “You really are taking all this pretty well,” she said. She elbowed Jonathan, getting him to look at her, taking in her slightly rekindled sparkle. “No questions about life, the universe, and everything?” “None that I can think of at the present moment.” Jonathan turned his own frank gaze on the petite woman beside him. “What of you, though? Surely you must have a thousand and one things running through your mind.” She shook her head. “You really believe I can think? Or do you still believe I’m a cartoon come to life?” Jonathan measured his response. “Both.” Her mouth tipped up at one corner. “And another score for Melissa,” she said. “I always had you pegged for the brainy type.”
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“The trouble is, I don’t see how it’s possible. I know what Sullivan’s tried to explain to me, but…” Jonathan turned to look back through the sliding glass doors at the artist he’d fallen for, all but mauled, and been about to fuck when the ceiling came crashing down on their party. He sat at his drawing board, face down, both long, strong hands fisted through his messy dark hair. “Is the magic in the drawing board, or in his own hands?” “You got me. Well, okay, bad choice of words.” Melissa sipped her coffee, making a face. “Usually, when he draws someone new, poof, they exist. He can draw them again a thousand times, but they don’t multiply. One shot is all you get.” “But you? I’ve known you for a year, so you must have been around for at least twelve months, thus drawn way back when, and then again today on the sketch pad.” Jonathan studied Melissa carefully. “I saw your drawing move. The magic’s in Sullivan himself, isn’t it?” She tilted her head in careful consideration. “I think so. Either the stuff rubbed off, or he woke the table up in the first place.” “How is it you’re so different from the others he told me about? Crazy Joe, the rest? From what he says, they can’t move beyond this apartment, nor can they hold a physical form for very long.” “Wish I had the answers for you. I don’t. Maybe it’s because I came first. I’m like the Eve of his Garden, made from a rib, built to last.” She raised one shoulder. “The others have a word for what I am -- integrated. I’ve made a life for myself outside of Sullivan’s sphere.” Jonathan smiled. “Yet you don’t want to be, do you?” Melissa blinked, then returned his smile, shyly. “No. I don’t. How’d you know?” “I can sense things. For example, right now Sullivan’s ready to impale himself on his own drawing pencils, if I’m correct.” Jonathan stole another glance inside. “He’s taking this worst of all, isn’t he?” “I think so, yeah.” Melissa half-laughed. “And here’s you, the neophyte, takin’ it all in his stride. I don’t get you, Jonathan. I thought I had a handle on who you were, all
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those times we met at the library, but now I’m realizing I have no clue who’s really behind those pretty gray eyes.” “No, you don’t.” Jonathan said. “Did you have any clue at all, for example, that since the very first time I laid eyes on you, Melissa, I’ve wanted to make love to you until we were both too worn out to speak, much less move?” Melissa’s lips parted into a ”O” of surprise. Jonathan laughed to see such an expression on her brash face. “Have I shocked you?” “Pretty much, yeah.” Melissa eyed Jonathan up and down. “You’re not half bad yourself, you know.” “Thank you -- I think. However, didn’t you just say you wanted Sullivan?” Melissa groaned. “God, do I ever. I ache, needing him inside me.” Jonathan leaned in , brushing his arm against her shoulder. “We needn’t have all or nothing, you know,” he said in a low voice, using his accent to his advantage. “There is such a thing as sharing.” She blinked. “You mean you… Sullivan… me?” “Would it be such a bad thing?” Jonathan kept the contact between their skin light but steady. “I’ve wanted you for months, and I’ve wanted Sullivan since this afternoon. The desires are equal in their strength.” “You mean, you’re dyin’ to give us both a good time?” “More or less. Rather more than less, I think. Actually, what I mean to say is I’d like to fuck you blind.” “And it doesn’t bother you that I’m…” Melissa gestured to herself. “We don’t even know what I am, except a drawing that walks, talks, and breathes.” “And thinks. That’s most important of all. You exist, Melissa, you’re very much a woman, and I want, almost more than anything, to kiss you right now.” He held up a finger, touching her lips. “But I won’t. Not until we’ve talked to Sullivan. And not unless you agree.”
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Different shades of pink were coloring Melissa’s cheeks, but her lips were curving into a saucy grin. “Two for the price of one, huh? Every girl’s dream come true.” “So you have dreamed about me?” Jonathan teased. “From time to time?” Melissa gave a small, sexy shimmy. “Every now and then. You’re hot when you have your glasses on. Smart men turn me on.” Jonathan almost gave in to the urge to take the vixen in his arms and kiss her senseless. Instead, he satisfied himself with taking her coffee cup away and pulling her close with one arm, letting her feel the length and hardness of his prick. “For you,” he whispered. “And for Sullivan. Can you handle this, Melissa? I’ve a lot to cope with, but so do you.” “And so do I,” a third voice startled Jonathan. He turned to see Sullivan standing in the doorway, leaning against its frame. His grin was rueful and his hands shoved into both pockets. “I think this town’s big enough for the three of us… if you want us, Melissa.” She looked from one man to the other, as if seeking some sort of confirmation or absolution. “It’s really… you don’t mind? You’re willing to -- with me?” “Not just willing.” Sullivan’s lips shaped the words as if he were tasting them and they were good. “Eager.” Jonathan held out his hand, grasping Melissa’s. Sullivan mirrored his movement, taking her other palm in his own. Linked, they stood for a long moment, Melissa’s pink, purple and yellow curls whipping around her face. Finally, she smiled -- no, grinned, bright and bold. “Then I have only one question left. What are we waiting for?”
Chapter Ten “Nothing’s holding us back.” Sullivan drew Melissa and Jonathan back into his studio apartment, the three of them linked together. His heart beat like a gong in the middle of his chest, but with excitement, not nerves. He didn’t have to choose between Jonathan and Melissa. He could have them both. Forty-two days had brought him double luck, and he hadn’t even hoped for single odds when he’d left home for the park. “Will you draw us?” Melissa asked as Jonathan slid the balcony doors shut. “In bed?” Sullivan did what he wanted most -- leaned in to touch her full lips with his own, and whispered, “Any. Way. You. Want.” She looked dazed at the thought. “Comic book or personal collection?” “Only personal. Hey, come here.” Sullivan caught at Jonathan, and pulled the three of them into a tri-fold clinch, bodies nestling close and tight against one another. “You too, Jonathan. Any way you’ll let me draw you.” “Will another me come to life from the pages?” Jonathan wanted to know. “Nah.” Sullivan kissed him as well, savoring the difference in the way men and women felt and tasted. Like crisp fall apples and tart summer pomegranates. A fine tremor ran through Jonathan’s skin, as if he were a cat and about to begin purring. Sullivan had no idea what to do or where to begin, but there was no posturing going on between the three of them. He was being himself, so was Jonathan, and Melissa felt so open that the moment became unbearably fucking pure. It took his breath away.
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“Sullivan, are you sure?” Melissa asked, even as her hand worked its way around his back to rest on his ass. She spanked one cheek lightly. “You don’t think we’re rushing things?” “Never, sweetie.” He kissed her again, unable to help himself. “God, never. You’re so beautiful. Why didn’t I ever notice?” “Perhaps you needed a second set of eyes to help you see,” Jonathan rumbled in his edible accent. “Melissa is more than one man can handle, I think. She needs two to take proper care of her.” “Oh, oh, still using words like ‘proper’,” Sullivan teased. “Melissa, what do you say we torment him with our sexual wiles until he’s speaking in the language of Grunt and Groan?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Sounds good to me. Hey, Sullivan -- check this out.” Turning to Jonathan, she wound herself around him like a slinky, one leg arched over his hip, arms about his neck, and pulled his head down for a kiss that Sullivan could see involved tongues, nibbling teeth, and that he could hear the passion in. He stood back, hand going to his own erection as he watched the pair, stroking it up and down. Not enough to come, but just to tease. What a show! Melissa turned around, her face alight. “He’s delicious,” she said, licking her lips. “Do you want a turn?” Jonathan looked dazed, but he let go of Melissa with a lingering caress and reached for Sullivan. Their mouths crashed together, Sullivan loosing a groan. This kiss was the best he’d ever had in a night of personal bests. Jonathan tasted like minty toothpaste, sweet wine, and Melissa. Their heads tilted, and Sullivan slid his tongue inside to tangle with Jonathan’s own. No shy British reserve there. Jonathan put all his being into the kiss, never once closing his warm gray eyes. Sullivan gazed into them as long as he could before his own fell shut, the darkness blocking out all other stimuli but the feel of mouth upon mouth. He needed air, damn it. But when he pulled back, gasping, he had to say it. “You’re habit-forming. Both of you.”
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Jonathan and Melissa laughed, their faces changing from gorgeous to breathtaking. Sullivan caught Melissa by the curls and sampled her himself, drinking deep from the well she opened up for him. Better than the kiss they’d stolen earlier, this was raw and earthy, primal and passionate, her arms tight around him and her hot pussy pressed hard against the bulge of his erection. “Want you,” she managed to say. “Wanted you for so long, Sullivan.”
“Why didn’t you ever say?”
“I thought you’d rather have someone else.”
“Dummy.” He kissed her again, wet and deep and raunchy, his hands on her
hips starting up a shimmy and sway that pressed their groins together in a rocking rhythm. “Sweetie,” she shot back into his mouth, matching Sullivan move for move. “Don’t make a fellow feel left out here,” Jonathan protested. As one, Melissa and Sullivan reached for the Englishman, pulling him into their clinch. They began to trade kisses, male to female, male to male, pushing pulsating flesh against other willing bodies until the world was made up of hard cocks and wet cunts, and nothing else mattered. “Want you,” Sullivan said in the middle of their tangle. “Really, really want you. Both of you. Now.” “And I you. And Melissa.” “Same goes for me.” Melissa giggled. She tossed her hair, strands flying like ribbons. “God, this is so weird! But it’s so good, too.” “Two for the price of one,” Jonathan said, pressing his lips briefly against hers. “Is there room for all three on the bed?” “It’s not that far. Nothing is, in this place. Should we race each other there?” Melissa laughed again. “I’d beat both of you.” “Nothing better than diving into a willing woman.” Sullivan gripped Jonathan’s hand. “Or man. Ready, then? One, two, three, go!”
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Whooping, they broke apart to make a dash for the already disarranged bed, tumbling into an eager heap of arms, legs, and open mouths ready for kisses, more and more sweet kisses. Sullivan landed on top of Jonathan, joined their mouths, and did what he’d been wanting to for aching ages -- slid his hands underneath the blue sweater and insistently helped shove the garment off, tossing it somewhere outside the bed, and began licking, sucking, and nibbling at the hard, flat chest. Sullivan listened with pleasure to the sound of Jonathan’s moans until Melissa blocked them with her lips. Jonathan’s hands weren’t idle, either -- they worked at Sullivan’s own T-shirt, plucking at the hem until Sully took the hint and made the obstacle to skin disappear. Grabbing Jonathan’s hand, Sullivan did another thing he’d been yearning to since the afternoon -- guided them to the hard bulge of his erection. “Touch me,” Sullivan breathed against his skin. “Feel me? That’s how much I want you.” “And me?” Melissa broke off long enough to ask. “Me, too?” “Oh, God, yes.” Sullivan pulled her off Jonathan and twined his arms around the woman. He held on for a moment, then nuzzled deep into the softly scented curve of her neck, and lowered his hand to cup one breast with his palm, loving the heavy weight of it as much as the hard curve of Jonathan’s cock beneath his other hand. “How did I get so lucky?” “Maybe it was fate,” Melissa breathed. “Draw us like this, so we’ll have this moment forever.” “I said it before -- any way you want.” Jonathan had landed on his back, and reached up for Sullivan’s fly with hands that shook from overexcitement. He cupped Sullivan’s erection, fingers knowing exactly what they were doing, rubbing his thumb along the denim. “Can I?” he asked in a tone of voice which already knew the answer to his question. Sullivan nodded, a slow, languid nod, and held himself taut while Jonathan nimbly drew down his zipper and pushed his jeans and fitted shorts down his hips, letting his cock make its grand debut. They took care of the matter of a condom with
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more hurry than grace, but who was complaining? Not Sullivan. He groaned when Jonathan arched up and took the purple head into his mouth, the sensation of wet warmth and sucking tightness almost too much to bear. The little dash of pain that went so well with pleasure. “My turn now.” Sullivan knew exactly what he wanted, and went for it with the same determination he’d used stripping off Jonathan’s sweater. Laughing and cursing as denim tangled around legs, both men pulled off their jeans and shorts, then came together and stopped making any noise at all except for stifled groans and moans of passion. After adding a condom to Jonathan’s cock, their swollen dicks collided and rubbed against one another, the sweet friction they’d briefly tasted earlier exploding into a fever of lust. “Hey,” they heard Melissa say, and looked up to see her kneeling, legs wide apart, on the foot of the bed. She held one breast in her right hand, and had the other slipped down her shorts, where the shifting of fabric and the growing damp spot told them she was fingering her own pussy. “I’m throbbing,” she said in a tone of wonder. “Burning. Like I’m going to turn into a cinder from the inside out.” “Then let us help you,” Jonathan said, reaching for her. “Uh-uh,” Melissa retorted, drawing back. “For the two of you, I have a show. Lean back against the pillows, both of you, and watch me go. I’ve been wanting to do this for ages.” The men exchanged glances, then wicked grins, and obeyed their Mistress’ command. Side by side, heads nestling together, they watched Melissa get up and stand at the foot of the bed. “Touch yourselves,” she ordered. “Hard, soft, fast, slow, doesn’t matter. But don’t come yet. You save those cocks for me.” She dipped and shimmied like a belly dancer, spine arching and trim stomach bowing in. “I want both inside me at once.” “Get back here,” Sullivan growled, sitting up and making a grab for her. “Nuh-uh. The show must go on.” Her fingers hesitated at the edge of her top. “I’ve wanted to for so long, Sully, and you only get one first time.”
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Jonathan squeezed Sullivan’s hand. “Let her have at it,” he whispered, voice tickling the curve of Sullivan’s ear. “Besides, I want to watch. I’ve been dreaming about this for a good long while myself.” Sullivan gazed at his best friend, soon to be his lover, and nodded. “When could I ever say no to you? But have a little mercy, huh? We’re only human here.” Her grin came straight from the devil, letting Sullivan know he was in for a hell of a time. “All right, then. Let the show begin.” Rocking her hips in tune with some sultry, languid tune only she could hear, Melissa trailed her fingers across her bare belly and traced up the length of her elaborate tattoos, curling in and out. When she reached fabric, she lifted the midriff top slowly, the fullness of her breasts gradually coming into view, surrounded by cups of lace. Sullivan gripped his cock harder at the sight. When she tore the shirt off as if it were paper, he felt Jonathan take his free hand. The two pressed against each other, side by side, working their cocks slowly up and down, watching Melissa perform for their pleasure -- and her own. Cradling her breasts in both hands, she offered them up as a plump and plentiful sacrifice. She rolled the nipples in her fingers until they stood up and out like hard candies, just waiting to be sucked and licked. “Any suggestions?” she asked, her voice low and husky. “The bra,” Sullivan said, mouth dry. “I’ve wondered about you naked. Drawn you with clothes just barely hanging off the curve of your breasts. Now I want to see them, for real.” Melissa’s fingers went to the front-clasp fastening of her lacy undergarment. She toyed with it, giving them a sly look. “Are you ready? Aim your cocks at me for yes.” She laughed as both Sullivan and Jonathan obeyed. “Bulls-eye,” she said, undoing the fastening. A shrug of her arms, and the bra fluttered away, hitting the floor. Sullivan stared at the perfection of the woman he’d drawn, his mouth beginning to water. She was everything he’d dreamed of and more. Fuller, riper, more lush. “I have to taste you,” he said hoarsely. “Come here, Melissa. Please, come here.”
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“Show’s not over yet.” Letting go of her breasts, Melissa toyed with the waist of her shorts. “The best part’s still to come.” “So am I,” Jonathan said with a groan. “Open up for us, darling. Let us see your sweet pussy.” “What would The Bitch do?” “When she had two men waiting on her in the same bed?” Sullivan rasped. “She’d get the fuck on with it.” Melissa’s lips tilted in an intoxicating grin. “Your wish,” she said, grasping the material, “is my command.” She tore the shorts as she had the shirt, easily as if they were tissue, and dropped the shreds to the floor. Melissa wore nothing underneath, and now bare, presented herself to Sullivan and Jonathan like the woman she was -- a small Amazon, in her prime, ripe and ready to be fucked. Her pussy, shaved down to the soft, swollen skin, glistened at them. She dipped a finger down to stroke herself. “Want me?” she purred. “Want this?” “More than anything,” Sullivan said, and meant it. “You and Jonathan. Come join us. Please.” “That’s the magic word.” Melissa put one knee on the edge of the bed and began crawling up it, easing her way between the two men. Sullivan stroked her back as she traveled, feeling the ridges of her spine and the utter smoothness of her decorated skin, bumping into Jonathan as he did the same. Fully nestled between Sullivan and Jonathan, Melissa moved around until she lay on her back. Sullivan flashed back on a memory of a thought he’d had not so long ago, himself tasting one full breast. “Please,” he begged, reaching out to touch. “Let me taste you?” Melissa drew Jonathan’s head in to her chest. “Feed,” she said, voice ripe with sex. “Both of you, drink from me.” As one, the men’s mouths fastened on Melissa’s breasts, licking at the nipples, tonguing them into even stiffer peaks. Sullivan sighed in bliss, his cock pulsating in
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time with the motion of his mouth, drawing her deeper and deeper in, cradling what he couldn’t take between his lips. It’d been forever, for ages, but God, was the feel of her worth the wait. Slyly, he let his other hand roam down to Melissa’s pussy, once again bumping into Jonathan en route. Melissa moaned and spread her legs wide, letting their two hands investigate her sopping folds. They felt the ripples as she tossed her head and lifted her back into a curve. So hot, so silky, so wet. Sullivan did what he’d dreamed of and thrust a finger into her channel, listening to her cries of pleasure double as he felt Jonathan’s hand above his own begin to play with her clit, thumbing it as if he had natural talent. A gush of wetness covered Sullivan’s hand. He left her long enough to taste the salty juices, licking each finger off before returning to her pussy, thrusting in and out in a mimicry of fucking. Fucking… oh, God, he couldn’t wait. Neither could Melissa, it seemed. “Too good,” she said, threshing her head on the pillow. “Playtime can wait. I can’t. I wanted this to last all night, and now I can’t stand to go a second longer.” “What are you saying, darling?” Jonathan’s accent was good enough to eat. Melissa parted her legs even further. “Inside me, both of you. Come inside me now.” “As the lady requires.” “Both of us, you’re sure?” Melissa nodded frantically. “Like in the threesome scene Sullivan drew once,” she said raggedly. “He knows, he’ll show you.” “I remember that picture, and how you stared at it for so long,” Sullivan said, drawing on the memory. “Melissa, straddle me. Up on your hands and knees, and move so that your pussy is almost touching my cock. Not inside, though. Not yet.” “And Jonathan?” She gasped. “Behind me?” “Jonathan behind. Unless you want things the other way around?”
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“No. No.” She shook her head, hair flying. “This is perfect. I’m dying for both of you, but I want you to be the first one inside my cunt, Sullivan.” Over her shoulder, she winked at Jonathan. “You can have next turn. This night’s not close to being over.” “I’m well aware.” Jonathan bit her shoulder as he sat up and moved with them, easing into position. Sullivan held Melissa as she shivered and shook, easing her limbs into place until she was poised above him, the edge of her wet folds touching the tip of his cock. Her eyes shone dark with desperation. “How long do we have to wait?” Sullivan caressed her. “Will this be your first time with someone coming from behind?” “No.” Melissa looked sad. “I wanted to wait for you, but I thought forever would be never.” “It’s tonight -- sweetie. Come here.” Sullivan indulged himself by drawing Melissa down for a kiss, holding her there while he heard the click of a tube opening -way to show initiative, and go team Jonathan! -- and she gasped at the sound of slick liquid meeting flesh. “How does it feel?” he asked her softly, holding Melissa close as he could without sinking into her creamy center. “Tell me what he’s doing, as he’s doing it.” She struggled for breath. “His hands… those long, strong fingers… they’re circling my hole. Ah, ah, ah! He’s pushed one in. Tight, Sully, I feel so tight. But so empty.” “Open up for him, Melissa. Let him in.” She writhed and moaned above him as Jonathan must have added a second finger and begun to scissor her open. “This is why I like being with men. Tell me how good it feels, what he’s doing.” “Like heaven,” she managed. “Like I can’t get enough.” “She’s ready,” Jonathan said, his own voice shaky, as he drew back. Sullivan could just see him above Melissa, his autumn-colored hair and warm gray eyes all but ablaze with passion. “Are you?”
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Sullivan took a better grip on Melissa’s arms. “On the count of three, Lissa. Sink down on my cock as he pushes in.” She dragged in a deep breath of air as he spoke, and he soothed her, petting her down. “We’ll fill you at the same time, and you’ve never felt anything like this.” “Have you?” Melissa asked, eyes wild. “I’m lined up to her hole,” Jonathan said softly. “Ready on your mark.” “Never before you,” Sullivan said, stroking his best friend, his lover. “I wonder if you were always meant to be my first. You and Jonathan. Are you ready?” She nodded, then dipped her head down to kiss him, fiercely and hungrily. Sullivan grasped Melissa’s back and pulled her onto his cock in one smooth, slow glide. She felt like a silken fist around him, so wet that he slid easily into the tight fit. When her bare pussy touched his balls, she gave a mighty shudder. Sullivan knew what Jonathan must have been doing. “Relax, Lissa,” he said, holding himself back from thrusting by a tremendous effort of will. “Open up and let him in.” She gasped, groaned, and then Sullivan felt Jonathan come inside, short, slow strokes, steady as she rode, until he was nestled to the hilt. A thin strip of skin separated their two cocks. “So close, and yet so far?” Jonathan asked breathlessly. “We’ll all have our turn,” Sullivan answered, running his hands down Melissa’s sweat-sheened back and finding Jonathan’s hands. He hung onto them as he took just one delicious moment to savor the feeling, to let Melissa, shaking and quivering, adjust to having two men inside her at once. “Are you ready?” he asked, when she was able to focus on him again. She swallowed and nodded. “God, yes. I’m so full. Both of you.” “Both of us. And now, it gets even better.” Sullivan raised Melissa’s hips slightly, feeling Jonathan draw back, and then, unable to contain his shout of pleasure, brought her back home. His voice mingled with her own and Jonathan’s as he thrust in again. Rocking back and forth, they soon found their rhythm. Sullivan’s world dwindled
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down to pure physical sensation. Hot, tight, wet, hard, thrust, glide, push. The orgasm he’d been waiting for since earlier in the day began to build in the pit of his belly like a knot, uncoiling and ready to spiral loose. Not before Melissa came, though. Desperately, Sullivan worked his hand down between their bodies, brushing his own cock with a shock of pleasure, and began to finger her throbbing clit. She bucked against him, giving a ululating cry, and bore down on his cock from the inside. “Good?” Sullivan managed to ask. Eyes shut, Melissa nodded. Sullivan tugged at the small silver ring piercing her clit, then gave it a light yank. “Come for me,” he urged. “Want to feel you come.” He pulled again, teasing with his fingers. “Hurts so good, baby.” His fingers danced in circles around her as Jonathan thrust in and out. “Do it, Lissa. Let go. Now!” She wailed, spasming around him, her internal muscles clenching and releasing in a wild frenzy. Sullivan’s cock gave a throb, his hips bucked, and his orgasm came onto him like a sudden deluge, washing his body with sheet after sheet of pure, whitehot pleasure. He could hear Jonathan making primal sounds as he, too, froze. As Sullivan’s own cock pumped seed into his condom, he imagined he felt Jonathan’s come spurting out, all but touching and mingling with his own. When the white light faded and the room stopped spinning, the three of them lay in a heap, breathing in heavy, ragged gasps. Wrung out, Sullivan managed to bring Melissa’s head to rest on his shoulder, kissing a purple curl of hair. Sweat and woman. The smell of man, too, came from Jonathan, who was pulling himself out of Melissa’s toned ass, then collapsing by their side. “Share and share alike,” Sullivan whispered, turning Melissa over so she nestled between them. His cock slipped out as she moved, and he almost whimpered at the loss, but he knew -- there would be more for him later. Lying on his back, floating in the hazy afterglow, Sullivan kissed the curve of one rounded breast, and reached for Jonathan, tangling their fingers together. The
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roughness of all three sets of breathing evened out slowly, gradually, like waves ebbing into shore. Finally, Melissa moved, rotating her shoulders as if she were a contented cat kneading into the bed. “When can we go again?” Sullivan and Jonathan broke into laughter. “Insatiable,” Jonathan said fondly. “Good thing, too.” “Soon,” Sullivan promised. “There’s something I have to do first, though.” Melissa turned toward him, the look of a well-fucked woman blissful on her face. Dreamy and hazy, she gazed at Sullivan, waiting for whatever he had in mind. Sullivan looked at the face of the woman he’d drawn so long ago, this miracle he had in his arms and his bed, and whispered, “I love you.” “As do I,” Jonathan said, squeezing Sullivan’s hand harder. “Very, very much so.” A tear slipped out and ran down Melissa’s cheek. “You mean it?” Sullivan nodded, brushing her hair back with a tender hand. “I so do. I can’t live without you, Melissa. Still planning to leave me -- us -- now?” “Never.” She shook her head. “Not on your life. But, Sully, one more thing, something you need to know.” Melissa almost glowed. “I love you too.” And they kissed, Jonathan coming in from behind to lay his lips on Melissa’s shoulders, joined as three in a perfect triangle, neither about to let go if they could possibly help it. Not ever, not once, not at all.
Chapter Eleven Afterglow was a great word. Even better when you weren’t completely done, just resting up between rounds. Somewhere in there the night had ended and the morning sun was just about to slip over the horizon, but Sullivan, Melissa and Jonathan were still in the one bed, draped over each other as if they were worn-out puppies. “No,” Sullivan said drowsily. “Cats. Great big jungle cats, with fearsome teeth and claws that catch.” It was to Jonathan’s credit that he got the reference, and Melissa’s that she didn’t question it. Both merely put out hands to stroke Sullivan’s thigh, one on each, as if he’d done something to be proud of -- well, above and beyond fucking and being fucked to heaven and beyond all night long. “Melissa,” he sighed, “God, do I owe you for introducing us.” “I suspect I’m in her debt as well,” Jonathan murmured, cozying his head up on Melissa’s leg. “I’ve never been quite so happy to owe someone a favor.” “I’d say you were all paid up, sweetie.” Melissa combed her fingers through his hair. She grinned wickedly. “But there’s always compound interest.” Then, she sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy at all.” Sullivan’s heart went melt, just like a pat of butter on something sugary and sweet. He reached out to grasp her hand, found Jonathan’s instead, and contented himself with nuzzling his own face into one of Melissa’s trim legs. “How can one man and one woman have won me over so totally, so quickly?” “But we got you, didn’t we?” Melissa’s fingers trailed over Sullivan’s cheeks. He almost purred, rubbing into her touch. From where he lay he could smell the rich scent of her sex, and see the swollen lips of her pussy, still so tempting and just within hand’s reach…
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Melissa sighed and leaned back as Sullivan stroked a finger down her outer folds. Her head lolled back against the wall behind the bed and rolled back and forth, small strands of multi-hued hair clinging to it with static electricity. “You brought me to life,” she said, and Sullivan knew she meant more than what he’d done so long ago on the drawing table. “Do it again.” Sullivan exchanged glances with Jonathan, whose weary gray eyes had suddenly developed a sparkle. “What do you say?” he asked. “Should we give her a show?” Jonathan reached up to finger Melissa as well, running over her smoothly shaven mound and slipping inside to tickle at her clitoris. She groaned and arched, her stomach muscles flexing. “Keep that up, and I’m gonna be the show,” she warned. “And I want to see you two boys go at it.” Like the minx she was, she closed her legs to the knee, just narrowly letting the two men escape with their hands. “I want to watch you fuck each other almost over the edge, and then bring me in for the grand finale.” Sullivan looked at Jonathan again, this time touching the man’s lean cheek with a hand that smelled of pure sex. Jonathan inhaled, his eyes almost closing. “This is heaven,” he said, his voice sounding as if he were rolling around on something rare and precious, absolutely wallowing in it. “I had no idea when I came here last night, but I do now, and as you Americans say, what are we waiting for?” Sullivan traced down Jonathan’s nose. “I’m not sure. I keep wanting to call you words like honey or sweetheart or lover, but I don’t know if you’re ready for those words yet. Maybe it’s that English reserve thing.” Jonathan chuckled, rolling closer to Sullivan. “This is nothing like British manners,” he informed Sullivan. “A three-way, night-long orgy is not covered at all in the traditional lessons on social etiquette. Trust me, I’m being no one but myself in all of this. And besides, you called me all those things and more last night.” “Oh, yeah,” Sullivan said, voice lowering. “Especially when those long, succulent legs of yours were draped over my shoulders and I was driving into you full throttle. I know you now, Jonathan, in a way that a hundred casual dates and dinner would never have gained me. The way you breathe faster and faster as you get more
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excited, the way your hands lock down on my arms when I push into you or suck on your cock, how they move against my back when we thrust against each other, slick and smooth in all that come…” Above them, Melissa moaned. Her fingers stole down to stroke her own pussy. “Get this show on the road,” she ordered. “No more waiting.” Jonathan kissed Sullivan’s fingers. “Whatever you want from me, you can have.” “For now, or for always?” “Always,” he whispered. Sullivan felt something go leap! and bounce! in his heart as he leaned in to brush those heavenly lips again, savoring the taste and texture of the kiss as if it were their first time together. Above them, Melissa moaned again, writhing as she watched what Sullivan felt -- two cocks growing hard against one another. It almost hurt, after coming so many times, but it hurt so good that he didn’t want to stop. “Roll over,” he ordered, giving Jonathan a push. “On your hands and knees.” He caressed Melissa’s knee. “Open back up, baby. Let him taste you while I take care of what he needs.” Melissa loosed an almost girlish laugh, then let her legs fall apart like the most wanton harlot that ever flounced across the Wild West. She petted her bare pussy in invitation. “I’m up for it if you are,” she said, sultry and inviting. They were ready even as the men prepared themselves with condoms and the three of them lined up in a chain. Sullivan positioned himself behind Jonathan, the man still stretched and lubed from being fucked twice before. He savored the sweet ache in his own ass before lining his swollen cock up to the inviting hole and sliding in, a slow lazy dip into the tightly gripping inside, gasping when Jonathan bore down and the pressure became a wonderful torment. Melissa cried out as Sullivan saw Jonathan push his mouth into her pussy, his tongue making lazy trails inside her folds, flicking up and around the hard nub of her clitoris. She dug her hands into the rumpled sheets and held on tight, thrashing her head to and fro.
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Sullivan grinned, and began to fuck in earnest, nailing Jonathan like a hammer, knowing how much the calm, quiet librarian loved being fucked like an animal. Jonathan added his own cries to Melissa’s, unable to help himself even as he gorged himself on female cream. The smells of sex rose up around them like fragrant incense as they began all over again, going easy, taking their time, no matter how much they wanted to hurry. Each time someone sped up, another slowed them down with gentle strokes on flank or chest, reminding them, no rush, go easy, we have time. As a matter of fact, they had all day to fuck if they wanted to. And, Sullivan thought, as he slid his hand around to grasp Jonathan’s own cock and begin to jack him off, they could stay here until they were too worn out to do anything but sleep. Then they could start all over again. That was, until the characters on his drawing board got impatient enough to want a piece of the action. Sullivan glanced up at Melissa and saw her manage, even in the throes of passion, to throw him a saucy wink. He wondered… What would Jonathan make of Crazy Joe?
Willa Okati Willa Okati is one hundred percent in love all things vampire and supernatural. However, she’s an even bigger fan of stories that feature beautiful men exploring their desires for one another. Casually known as the “blue-haired, tattooed wench” among Changeling folks, she lives for the fun of acting just as young as she feels. She’d love for you to visit her website at http://www.willaokati.com or join her reader’s loop for fun and chatter at
[email protected]. Happy reading!
