Page 54 of On the Line

“Yeah well,” I mumble while walking up to the couch. “I’m so broke I can barelypaythose dues let alone my real bills.”

I shriek out a laugh when Ozzy pulls me down to the couch, pushing me onto my back. Undulating his hips over mine, he whispers in my ear. “Is your roommate home?” I shake my head. “Good,” he rasps, pulling me into a kiss.

His tongue is so soft, tracing my lower lip, so unlike his hard body grinding against mine. It slips into my mouth, hungry, needy. He groans and my skin pulses with need. But after a minute-long freefall, I gently push him away, gasping for air. Straightening back up, he settles into the opposite corner looking like the cat who got the cream.

“I should shower,” I say, slightly out of breath.

“Great,” he says with a clap of his hands, jumping up from the couch. “I’ll come with.”

“No.” The word morphs into a giggle. “There’s nothing sexy about my shower, trust me.”

I stand up and lead us to my bedroom. Aside from the bed and furniture I bought when I moved in, like the desk near the closet and the dresser stuffed full of clothes, it’s still pretty bare. The apology for the sad state of my room is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it back down. I don’t have anything to apologize for.

“Give me fifteen minutes, tops. I’ll be right back,” I tell him while I gather a change of clothes and my towel.

“Hurry back.” Ozzy gives me a quick slap on the ass and I yelp in surprise. The sound of his laughter follows me into the bathroom.

I shower as fast as I can, keeping my hair up in a bunand out of the water. After drying off, I step into white cotton shorts, chosen specifically because they ride up my ass, and a tank top, no bra.

When I walk back into the bedroom, Ozzy is crouched down, looking at some canvas paintings I have out on display and leaning against the wall near the window. I freeze, an intangible kind of embarrassment dripping over me, like a cracked egg spilling over my head.

I brace myself for the inevitable teasing comment about my art. An innocuous kind of belittling that feels like a thousand paper cuts on the skin.

Ozzy’s head lifts when he hears me walk in. The expression painted between his raised eyebrows, the glint in his eyes, the dip of his open mouth makes me stop in my tracks.

It’s almost like … admiration.

“You painted all these?” is all he says, his tone clear but soft.

I clasp my hands together, looking down and then up while I pick at my nails. “Yeah.”

He stands up, dusting off his knees, and steps towards me. “Those are amazing, James. I mean,” he says, raking his fingers through his curls. “I never had a doubt that you’d be talented, but those are like …” He waves towards the canvases. “So fucking good.”

The reflex of minimizing my artistic skill is second nature. Even if, deep down, IknowI’m that good. Instead, I blurt out, “Can I draw you?” My voice turns shy when I add, “Please?”

There’s coyness in his responding smile. “What?”

“Sit down, I want to draw you,” I say, a little more demanding this time.

“Alright,” he says with a grin. Tugging on the bottomhem of his shirt with both hands as if straightening a suit jacket, his chin slightly raised, eyes glimmering with mirth. “But if you draw me, I’m posing in the nude.”

“Okay,” I say immediately, lifting a shoulder in a shrug, completely unfazed.

He seems a little surprised but tries to hide it.

I laugh. “What? You think you’re my first nude model?” I scoff. “Please, salad boy, don’t make me laugh.”

His smile turns devilish. “Fine, then.”

I only have time to blink once before Ozzy grabs his shirt by the back of the neck and tugs it over his head in one continuous swoop. He pins me with a dark gaze, while I listen to the sound of his studded belt unfastening as he side-steps out of his jeans. His movements are hurried, eager, and he ends up tripping over his own feet but catches himself. We both stifle a laugh. When his socks and boxers finally end up on the floor next to him, my eyes immediately flick to his cock.

It’s as impressive as I remembered, even when he’s not hard.

He clears his throat, and my gaze jerks back up to his face. The proud little smirk he’s sporting makes me want to give him a little smack in the face but I say nothing.

“Where do you want me?” he asks.

Standing over me, with your cock shoved in my mouth.

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