Grayson (4 page)

His blue eyes were impatient, yet simultaneously crinkled with mirth. I imagined that the painter must have told him a joke to try to relax him. I tilted my head and stared at his face, noting the strong line of his jaw and the definition of his chin. The painter had shaded his striking features with strength and determination. Without thought, I reached out and ran my index finger along the curve of his cheek and down the strong column of his neck. I don’t know how long I stood there caressing the painting. It was only when my cell phone rang that I realized what I’d been doing.

All of this dust must be polluting my brain!
I laughed at myself as I clicked the keypad to answer the call. It was Jenny, my roommate.

“I’m back.” I heard when I answered.

“How was it?”

“Not bad. I actually ate food that didn’t come from a can.”

“And you didn't spontaneously combust?”

“Came close. I missed my MSG and artificial preservatives.”

“Plenty in the pantry. If you hurry you can reverse the effects of your healthy eating.”

“Already into my second can of corned beef.” She laughed.

I winced. Jenny would sit with a spoon and just eat her meals right out of the can. Her dietary habits were atrocious.

“Don’t forget the SPAM.” I added sarcastically.

“That’s my entree. Hey, thanks for cleaning. Where’s my toothbrush?”

“Bathroom.” Where it belongs, I wanted to add. Not the kitchen counter.

“Sneakers?”

“Hall closet.” Not under the table.

“Thanks. How was your date with Mark? You two hook up yet?”

“No.” I sighed.

“What?!” she shrieked around a mouthful of corned beef. “Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know. Listen, I’m at work. We’ll talk later.”

“Wait! Did you get your ticket yet?”

Oh, shit.
I’d forgotten to tell her that I wasn’t going. Maroon 5 was scheduled to be in town in a month playing at the amphitheater in Brooklyn. I’d love to go, but I just couldn’t afford the ticket right now.

“I’m not going to the concert.”

“Why not?” she whined.

“I can’t afford it.” I said truthfully. “I have bills and school to pay for.”

“I’ll spot you.”

“No way. I can’t let you do that. I’ll see Maroon 5 another time.”

“But—”

“Gotta go. I’m at work. We’ll talk later. Missed you.” I hung up quickly.

I put the phone back in my pocket and my gaze was drawn back to the painting and those stunning blue eyes. They were the same color as Charles’. This must be his father.

The painting was obviously done when he’d been a young man—I guessed in his mid-thirties. I looked for a date on the painting. There was a tiny scribble at the bottom, under the artist’s signature. Nineteen-eighty. I did some quick calculations. If he was in his mid to late thirties in this painting, that would put him close to seventy now. I still couldn’t believe that he, or anyone for that matter, lived in this house. Confusion and pity blended to a nebulous emotion. My heart squeezed tight, saddened that an elderly man resided in such horrid conditions.

I continued to study the captivating man in the picture. His eyes were his only similarity with his son. Where Charles was light, this man was dark. Dark hair, dark slashing brows, olive complexion. His hands, like his body, were large, his fingers lean and capable. There was a deep intensity to him that I found strangely compelling and a complexity that wasn’t easily defined. I laughed at myself again, realizing that I’d been standing there for God knows how long, staring at a stranger in a painting that was done over thirty years ago. And worse, I’d allowed my thoughts to construct some wild assumptions.

I carefully peeled the sheet off of the top of the gilt frame and walked back to the window. I turned the dusty sheet inside out, glad that the other side wasn’t as filthy and started on the window. After about fifteen minutes of a good arm workout, I had cleaned a patch big enough for some eager light to burst through. I was excited when it flooded the oasis I’d created with a checkered pattern of golden hues. Triumphant, I returned to sorting the books.

I worked for about another hour, chastising myself every time my eyes drifted to the painting across the room. I was surprised that it was such a distraction. Realizing I hadn’t gotten any studying done, I picked up my backpack and shrugged it onto my shoulders. I’d have to devote the rest of the evening to my books. My first midterm was in two days. Unable to help myself, I stopped at the painting before I left, letting my eyes slowly absorb the piece.

Getting two of my four midterms out of the way was a great relief. I was so happy, I could sing in the streets. And I did. My classmates and I left the quiet science center and exploded noisily into the street at Astor place, singing a hodgepodge version of Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of our lungs. Pedestrians on the street, mostly students and business owners, ignored us but we did get a standing ovation from a homeless man on the corner.

Jenny was also getting her Masters in Nursing so we took most of the same classes. As we walked down the street, she had one arm around me and the other snaked around one of our classmates, Susan.

“Let’s get some grub and then we can hit the bars!”

I laughed. “Hit the bars? It’s only three o’ clock.”

“We’re getting a late start. Kim and Diane finished their exam at noon and they’ve already started bar hopping.” She looked around to the girls in our group. “Who’s got the map?”

Jenny was referring to two girls who lived down the hall from us. They’d choreographed an extensive bar hop around the downtown area in celebration of surviving today’s midterms.

Ava produced a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and started reading the list of stops on the agenda.

I’d been up all night studying and was exhausted. Although I still had some nervous energy running through me from all of the Red Bulls I’d consumed, I wasn’t in the mood to bar hop. My fingers were itching to sketch. The park was nearby and it was a beautiful day with lots of sunlight. My spirit was restless. I wanted to be outside, not stuck in a crowded bar.

“I’m gonna pass on this,” I said. “Maybe I’ll meet up with you guys tonight. I’m going back to the apartment to sleep.”

A few of the girls started to protest.

“She pulled an all-nighter,” Jenny said in my defense.

“If I can manage it, I’ll join you guys later.”

I dispensed a few anemic hugs, then took off in the opposite direction toward my apartment. Instead of going to bed, I got my sketch book and some charcoal and headed back out.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on a park bench doing what I loved. I could feel the anxiety and tension from today drain away as my hand scurried over the blank page. First I sketched a little girl who was playing with her mother not far away from me. Then a few drawings of the landscape.

I sat and thought for a minute, thinking of the painting I’d seen a few days ago at my new job. I remembered the strong jaw, the high forehead and cheekbones, and the touch of a smile on an otherwise impatient face. Inspired, my hand started moving, flying across the page. I was surprised to see the work when it was finished. I drew in a deep breath and stared. Just stared. I could barely take my eyes away from it. A fine tremor moved through my body. Feeling foolish, I quickly turned the page and forced my gaze back to the landscape.

The following day, I stopped by the townhouse to work. I was surprised to see that the cleaning supplies still hadn’t arrived. I couldn’t imagine what could be taking so long. It had been a week since I gave Charles the list. I wondered vaguely if he was just fucking with me.
Seriously, how hard could it be?
He could get one of his minions to pick up the stuff. Or I could just order what I needed online and have it delivered.

I took a sip of my giant cup of coffee and placed it on the table then took out my laptop. I decided to do some research to see where I could find my supplies. I clicked my computer on and waited. Seeing the message that said there was no internet connection was disappointing. I hit a few buttons and waited. Still no internet. I needed a password. I sighed and sat for a minute. My eyes did a slow patrol of the painting of the beautiful man. I stared out of the small clean circle on the window, my mind churning, then I got up and started toward the kitchen stairs.

I just needed the Wi-Fi password. It wasn’t as if I was bothering him. This was important. Charles had said he’d emailed him, so the house must have internet capability. Plus, I did feel like I needed to introduce myself. I was coming to this house almost every day and would be doing so for some time. My dad would say that it was only good manners.

I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs with my foot on the lowest step. I looked up and saw total darkness. Taking a deep breath, I started to climb. There was a door at the top of the stairs that was slightly ajar. I stuck my head through the doorway. It was strikingly quiet. Maybe he wasn’t even here.

“Hello?” I yelled, then felt bad for making so much noise.

The door opened into a large hallway that was illuminated by ambient light. There were stacks of books against the wall.
No surprise there
. I noted they were all newer and in better condition than the ones downstairs. However, the hallway walls were dark and stained, and the plaster was cracked and peeling in several places. I took a tentative step forward, calling out again. No response. What if the old man was hard of hearing?

I peeked into an enormous room off to my right. It was filled with mismatched furniture and cluttered like downstairs. There was a desk and a computer against one wall. An ancient treadmill with some dumbbells, and more books. The faint smell of mildew lingered in the air accompanied by a damp chill. A bald light bulb hung from the ceiling in the haphazard room, but the windows were clean and natural sunlight prettily bathed the space.

A room on the other side of the hall was carpeted with a layer of books and magazines. I couldn’t see the floor. Then I spotted a door at the end of the hall that was slightly ajar and I approached it. My heart started to beat wildly.

A streak of movement through the opening caught my eye and I drew closer, curiosity guiding my feet. A man was sitting in a chair facing sideways so I could only see his profile. I watched as his limbs unfolded, stretching out long defined legs. He was wearing a towel around his waist.

I got a partial view of his body and let my eyes drift over his bare torso and arm, thinking how beautiful the lines were. His muscles were honed and tight. His hair was wet and fell around his head in dark waves. He must’ve just come out of the shower. I couldn't  see much of his face, but he was definitely not a seventy-year-old.

In a daze, I followed the solid muscles of his shoulder, his flexing bicep and the sweep of his forearm. Slowly I realized that his hand disappeared under the towel. The rhythmic moments under the towel were what finally intruded into my brain and slapped it into stark understanding.

Oh my God! He was jerking off!

I swallowed hard, my heart rate picking up speed. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. Heat suffused my body, hot and singeing. I knew that I should’ve crept silently back down the hall, but I couldn’t. I was frozen.
Oh God, what if he heard me?
I tensed my muscles, ready to turn and ease away when the man’s towel fell open. I had to bite my lip to jail the gasp that wanted to leap from my tongue.
Holy mother of mercy!
This man was beautiful. I couldn’t see clearly defined abs or the V that was always a turn-on for me, but his stomach was flat and toned.

His cock stuck straight up from a thatch of dark hair. The shaft looked heavy and thick, and was probably the largest I’d ever seen in real life. I stared avidly as it slid in and out of his fist, the crown fat and glistening with moisture. I watched, riveted as a bead of precum trickled over the swollen head and he captured it with his long capable fingers, pumping with increased vigor.

My breath was shorter now, sawing roughly through my parted lips. Every muscle in my body was tense and primed with acute arousal. My nipples hardened to bullets and my breasts swelled and ached as they pushed heedless against the restraint of my bra. This was, by far, the most erotic vision I’d ever seen in my life.

The man moaned and threw his head back, the sexy rumble a vibrating throb that made my pussy weep copiously. God, I’d never been so aroused.

He shifted in his chair, his hips flexing, and he seemed to grip his gorgeous cock tighter. His eyes squeezed shut and his breath rushed between his parted lips. Over and over he stroked his thick shaft, and I felt his touch and drowned in the pleasure of it. My legs trembled and fluid seeped from my body, soaking my underwear with warmth and trickling down the insides of my thighs. If I touched myself now, I would come instantly. The ache in my groin was almost maddening in its intensity and it was centered in my exquisitely swollen clit.

His body shuddered and another moan rolled from deep in his belly. I watched his jaw bulge as his hand moved with lightning-fast speed up and down his distended shaft. Then it seemed that all of the muscles of his body locked stiff, and with a tortured groan, he erupted, squirting over his fist and spraying his stomach and chest with semen.
Fucking magnificent
.