Page 2 of A Life Imagined
“I’ve seen enough fucking paintings,” Mathias grumbled, tapping his ash and watching as it fluttered down to the cobblestones beneath their feet.
“I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but you come off as a little intimidating,” Elise said, squinting against the midday sun as she sucked on her cigarette.
“I can’t imagine why.”
She gave a short laugh.“Your call, Chief.Shall we head home, then?I miss my own bed.”
Mathias took another pull and let the smoke curl from the corner of his mouth.His mind reached back to the white brick house and the sun-drenched warmth of the upstairs bedroom.He didn’t miss his own bed so much as who he’d find in it.
Rayan stared at the open book in his hand.The mesh curtains drawn across the open window in the bedroom stirred in the late-evening breeze.Beyond the window was the foaming blue gateway to the North Sea.He went over the passage he’d read moments before, and it made even less sense.Flipping back to the previous page, he skimmed the text only to find that none of it registered.He gave a frustrated sigh and leaned back against the headboard.Beside him, the bed remained undisturbed, as it had for the past week.
Mathias was traveling through Southern France for several days on a procurement trip.It wasn’t uncommon—he often flew to places like Vienna and Madrid to make acquisitions or consult with clients looking to obtain a specific piece.Travel came with the territory, but that didn’t make Mathias’s absence any more tolerable.
The house loomed large without him, a silence filling the hallways and empty rooms.Rayan hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on Mathias’s daily presence in his life.His touch like an electric charge.Without it, Rayan hummed with unmet desire, making him aimless and easily distracted.
He’d done well, considering.He kept himself busy working at the center and out in the camp.The situation in Calais had worsened, and the growing needs of the seemingly endless stream of refugees arriving in the city had resulted in local officials withdrawing their support.It made charitable organizations like the Calais Center for New Migrants even more necessary as they found themselves on the front lines of a crisis the establishment no longer wanted any part of.
Rayan tossed the book aside and reached beneath the waistband of his sweats.He didn’t have to mope—he was quite capable of meeting his own needs.He’d just found that, with Mathias around, he rarely had to.
Rayan closed his eyes and eased into the warm wave of building pleasure—gradual, familiar—and his cock responded accordingly.He knew whose hand he’d prefer in place of his own.Mathias liked to palm the head of Rayan’s cock while squeezing the root, pushing him forward and pulling him back.He’d press his mouth to Rayan’s ear, speaking in a measured voice, as he stripped away Rayan’s composure one languid stroke at a time: “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?That’s what you’re lying here thinking about.Say it.I can’t hear you.”
Rayan loved when snatches of the man’s sadistic side flickered through.Mathias knew when he flexed his particular brand of control, Rayan was putty in his hands.
He heard the floorboards creak on the landing, and he froze, his eyes flying open.Mathias stood in the doorway to the bedroom, a smirk pulling at his lips as he stared down at Rayan on the bed.He wasn’t due back until the next day.
“Don’t stop on my account.”Mathias dropped his bag to the floor and walked into the room.He lowered himself into the chair across from the bed, arms draped leisurely over the armrests, his eyes glittering.“Go on.”
Rayan’s stomach lurched, and a flush of embarrassment rose to his cheeks, but it was swallowed by an even more powerful surge of arousal.He began to move his hand again, deliberate, slow, lowering his gaze to avoid the imposing sight of Mathias as he watched him.
“Look at me,” Mathias instructed sharply—his voice from before, that other life.
Rayan’s eyes snapped to his, and he groaned as his desire leapt forward, his cock straining in his fist, fighting for release.
“Good boy.”
Mathias’s face betrayed nothing as Rayan began to fall apart beneath his gaze, desperate to look away and at the same time not wanting to miss a second.Mathias’s eyes fixed him to the spot, exposing him, Rayan’s pleasure bared for all to see.Rayan felt the crest of his release, a crackle of lightning that curled his toes, and gave a short grunt as he pulled up his T-shirt and shot across his bare stomach.
Breathing hard, he waited for the spots to leave his vision before using the hem of his shirt to swipe away the mess.He rolled off the bed, somewhat unsteady, moved toward Mathias, and knelt before him.Those piercing gray eyes lowered to Rayan’s face.He slid his palms along Mathias’s thighs to his belt, which he unbuckled then moved to unzip his slacks, the fabric stretched against the thick swell of his cock.Rayan took him into his hand, and a shiver ran down his spine.Mathias was rock-hard.
“Welcome home,” Rayan said.
Mathias’s lips parted, the lust filling his pupils, before Rayan blessedly took the man into his mouth.
Chapter Two
“And this?”Mathias lifted Rayan’s fingers from his lips and pressed them to his neck.
“Raqaba.”
“How about this?”Mathias guided his hand beneath the bedcovers.
Rayan smirked.“My mother only used a diminutive.”
“There’s nothing diminutive about it.”
“That’s true,” Rayan murmured appreciatively, ducking his head to kiss the line of Mathias’s jaw.“But she had two boys and was painfully modest, so we never used the proper word.”
His Arabic had vastly improved over the past year and a half.Strange how much of the language was set in context.Rayan had known how to speak it within the confines of conversations he’d had at home with his mother, only to discover that his understanding of the world was limited to a child’s vocabulary.In some ways, he was learning the language all over again, and he felt a quiet pride in reclaiming it.
