Ingenue's Choice (7 page)

His parents would be proud, but then he considered the source and thought maybe they wouldn’t be.

He winced at the idea that Keir probably wouldn’t be accepted as a member at his parents’ golfing or tennis clubs and that what he was doing now—

having a sausage and soda in a park with a “minority”—was definitely slumming in their eyes, something to be avoided and frowned upon at all costs.

But the fact was Patryk enjoyed himself now more than he ever had with any of the hoity-toity dates his mother had ever fixed him up with. Even Derek, 50

Gracie C. McKeever

for all his carousing and abuse, liked flaunting his wealth and enjoyed the finer things in life, a hoity-toity, trust-fund baby supreme.

“You got quiet all of a sudden. Are you okay?” Keir asked.

Patryk glanced up at him and noticed the expression of concern, his insides melting at the idea of being on the other end of Keir’s kindness. “Just thinking.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself doing it.” Keir put an arm around Patryk’s shoulder and relaxed back against the bench.

He enjoyed Keir’s spontaneous shows of affection, he realized, especially when he compared them to Derek’s often offhanded and rough treatment.

Patryk wasn’t accustomed to physical exhibitions, but with Keir, he felt comfortable and at ease, and he enjoyed the contact. There was no pressure or expectation of sex, though Patryk definitely sensed Keir’s desire and attraction.

He didn’t feel pushed to put out or do something he didn’t want to do. He knew that Keir would never force him into anything, Keir’s affection without strings, except for the protective custody he had claimed over Patryk since the two of them met up earlier in the afternoon.

Derek hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Patryk either, but then Derek, Patryk had learned well into their relationship, couldn’t keep his hands off of a lot of guys. Not to mention once Patryk had found out about his lover’s flings and had confronted Derek about them, Derek had punished him for being insolent enough to
question
his Master.

Derek’s touches, more times than not, were born of horniness and obsession rather than tenderness and affection. Derek was not the cuddle-up-just-for-the-hell-of-it kind of guy, but the wham-bam-thank-you-man kind of guy.

How Patryk mistook their relationship for anything serious or something that could last past the initial attraction and passion was beyond him. He was so glad now he had never given in to his ex’s constant demands not to use a condom the two years they were together. It was one of the few things he had stood firm on with Derek right before he finally stood up to the man and cut things off. He thanked God every day that he hadn’t caught anything from his former lover to take with him and keep as a souvenir of his supreme weakness and stupidity.

Keir tightened his arm around Patryk’s shoulder, and Patryk felt his gaze on him, warming the side of his face like a torch.

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51

Drawn like a mouse to cheese, he steeled himself before turning to look into the chocolate eyes he remembered so well from the club. Christ he hoped he wasn’t falling into a trap the same as that tiny little animal, liking Keir as much as he did so soon.

You’re not, Pat, and he’s not Derek.

I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.

Trust me. Trust
him.

Patryk held his breath and turned to Keir as Keir leaned forward and paused with his lips a hairsbreadth away from Patryk’s. He waited for Keir’s next move, craving it, whatever it was and afraid that it wouldn’t be enough or that it would be just right and he wouldn’t be able to resist, or worse that he would become hopelessly addicted.

You’re putting the cart way before the horse, Pat. Take it one step at a
time.

Easy for her to say.

Keir pushed out his tongue and flicked the tip over a corner of Patryk’s mouth, licking off a smudge of mustard. “I like sloppy eaters. Gives me a chance to taste…your food.”

“I’m not usually so—”

“I just said I
like
sloppy eaters. I’m not insulting you.”

Patryk laughed then pantomimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key, silently accepting the compliment.

Keir chuckled at his antics. “It’s probably the only sloppy thing about you, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

“I’d like to paint you.”

Patryk frowned at Keir’s sudden gear-switch, then gathered himself enough to ask, “Paint as in portrait or as in actually putting-paint-on-my-body painting?”

“Hmm, now that you mention it, the latter sounds a lot more appealing than the former.”

“You really paint?”

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Gracie C. McKeever

“Not in a long time.” Keir grinned as he traced Patryk’s jawbone with a thumb. “You inspire me.”

He swallowed hard, couldn’t imagine being anyone’s inspiration, especially an African prince like Keir Monroe, though Keir inspired memories of his own brief flirtation with art in college.

Patryk had minored in art, knew he didn’t have the talent to be an artist, but he liked the idea of being around the talented people who created the kind of work he admired, the kind of work he visited in galleries and museums.

Was Keir one of those talented people?

“Would you pose for me?”

“I’m, uh—”

“That wasn’t a line, Patryk. I’m serious.”

That’s what scared him. He had never been with anyone who was so serious so fast…except Derek. And that experience had been two years of emotional and physical servitude that Patryk did not want to repeat.

Derek had a whole other agenda, besides just getting into Patryk’s pants.

He had wanted into Patryk’s mind and soul, to tear each down piece by piece.

Do it, Pat. Trust him. Trust your heart.

Listening to the angel against his better judgment, Patryk murmured,

“Okay,” and hoped he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

* * * *

Keir polished off his sausage and soda and dumped his remaining refuse in a nearby trash can before Patryk could change his mind. He went back and offered a hand, waiting for Patryk to comply as if it was his due when the truth of the matter was Keir surely didn’t deserve anyone as naïve and sweet as Patryk Andrews. He probably shouldn’t be trusted with someone so innocent, a heart so fragile, but he couldn’t resist drawing Patryk into his world, wanting him in his life any way he could get him.

Christ, he was being melodramatic!

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53

Patryk finished his food and dumped his garbage before sliding his hand into Keir’s and following his lead out of the park.

They passed Cherry Hill, a flat paved circle where few people were. It was a great place to practice new skating maneuvers, which was something Keir used to do back in the day several years ago when he was into aggressive skating.

He’d love to show Patryk some of his moves, and not just in the bedroom.

He wanted to do a lot of things with Patryk besides just have sex and paint him.

Keir liked him, enjoyed his company, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d just enjoyed being with someone, not since the early days with Elijah.

The later days hadn’t been very enjoyable for either of them.

He squeezed Patryk’s hand as if this action could ward off the guilt and horror of that night, as if it could eradicate the sight he’d beheld on that highway three years ago.

Keir didn’t think he would ever forget the look on Elijah’s face when he’d caught Keir in the arms of Keir’s agent, Tom Curry, didn’t think he would ever forget the betrayal and hurt in his lover’s eyes when El turned and fled out of Drea’s Art Gallery into the night.

He’d rather cut off his right arm than see that look in Patryk’s eyes, would rather die than hurt Patryk the way he had hurt Elijah.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a loft in the Village.” Keir turned to Patryk as they exited the park at East 72nd Street and saw the smirk. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“C’mere, smarty-pants.” He drew Patryk into his arms for a kiss, a hard, brief one on the lips, before he released him to take his hand again. Keir smiled as Patryk breathlessly followed him to the subway.

They caught a train almost immediately and rode the several stops to Keir’s loft apartment in Chelsea.

Keir held Patryk’s hand the entire trip and didn’t release him until he took out the key to open his door.

He let Patryk enter the apartment in front of him and closed the door behind them. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

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Gracie C. McKeever

“Probably the only humble thing about you,” Patryk joked and, in the middle of the spacious wooden floor, turned and stared as if to get his fill.

Keir held his breath waiting for his reaction, not realizing how important Patryk’s approval was to him until he finally turned to Keir with a smile and nodded.

“I really like this. It’s so…Bohemian. Spartan, yet homey.”

“You sound like one of the guys on
Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.
”

“More like
Queer Eye for the Queer Guy
.”

Keir chuckled. “Anyway, I’m glad you like it.” He tossed his keys into the candy dish on the ebony coffee table then took a seat on the adjacent black velvet futon.

There’d been a time when he would have had to traverse a maze of easels and canvases of various works-in-progress in order to get to the sofa. That had been three years ago when painting had been his life, before he realized that life was fleeting and love even more so.

“You already painted me!”

Keir glanced over his shoulder to see Patryk standing before the painting he’d done earlier, and Patryk wore the same admiring expression he had when he’d complimented the skaters in the park. “Oh, that’s nothing. I was just messing around.”

“What do you mean it’s nothing? It’s beautiful.”

“Not very modest, are you?” Keir teased and watched as Patryk expectedly flushed.

“You know what I mean, the artistry, not the subject.”

“I beg your pardon, but I happen to think the subject is perfectly beautiful.” Keir stood and circled the futon until he was standing right behind Patryk.

The man didn’t move a muscle, just stood staring at the picture as if it had been done by one of the masters.

“Okay, I know I’m good, but not
that
good,” Keir put a hand on Patryk’s shoulder and squeezed, easily massaging his back with his thumb as Patryk leaned into his touch and sighed.

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55

Keir closed his eyes and imagined Patryk sighing under totally different circumstances, in a totally different position, like on his back with his legs hooked over Keir’s arms as Keir drove hard into Patryk’s tight, round ass.

He shifted from one leg to the other, stopping just short of groaning at the image. If he didn’t have Patryk soon, he thought he might explode.

“You’re very talented,” Patryk murmured, just barely breaking the spell, and Keir added his other hand to the mix, kneading Patryk’s shoulders in earnest.

“I’ve been told I weave magic with my fingers.”

“Mmm, on the canvas and the human body, I’ll bet.”

Keir stopped rubbing, caught Patryk by the biceps and turned him around to face him. He paused for just the moment it took him to immerse himself in Patryk’s gorgeous jade gaze before he leaned in to kiss him.

This time, he didn’t have to wait for Patryk to open for him. He opened immediately, sucking in Keir’s tongue hungrily before Keir took over the kiss to forage inside Patryk’s mouth to his heart’s pleasure and for sustenance. He wanted Patryk but needed him even more. The kiss was at once tender and demanding and breathed warmth into his chilled heart.

Keir slid his hands up to cup Patryk’s face, burying one hand in his hair as he held Patryk in place and took his fill.

His cock, hard since Patryk’s arrival in the park and now painfully erect and pushing against the zipper of his cargo shorts with what seemed enough force to burst through on its own, throbbed in concert with his heart.

Patryk moaned into Keir’s mouth, sliding a hand down to Keir’s crotch, scorching a torturous path across Keir’s erection en route to unzipping his shorts.

Keir gasped when Patryk slid a hand inside and stroked his dick with eager intensity before grasping Keir’s shaft in his hot hand and driving him right to the edge.

Oh shit, this is going too fast!
If they didn’t stop now, they’d be doing it on the floor right there in the living room. As much as Keir wanted Patryk, he didn’t want to do it with him that way, at least not yet, not until he knew Patryk trusted him….not until he painted Patryk.

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Gracie C. McKeever

He remembered making the same demand of Elijah in the middle of making out and how he had broken away from Keir and looked at him as if he had grown another head.

Keir hoped Patryk was more receptive.

His breath hitching in his chest, he shifted his hips back and pulled his cock from Patryk’s insistent hold.

“Wha—”

“Not yet. Later. After I paint you.”

Patryk gawked. “You’re serious?”

“You thought I wasn’t?”

“I know you said you wanted to paint me, but we were kind of in the middle of something.”

Keir leaned in for a quick kiss but retreated just as fast and before the honeyed, warm taste of Patryk’s mouth lured further. “We’ll get back to it, and it’ll be worth the wait. Trust me.”

“I suppose I have to.”

Keir laughed at Patryk’s pout, thought it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen, adorable and hot. Maybe waiting wasn’t such a good idea.

Stick to your guns, man! It’s a great idea.

Yeah, he could do this. He could hold out, had to because Keir didn’t want to ruin what was growing between him and Patryk. Something so pure and sweet it made Keir wish he could paint and frame the feeling for the entire world to experience.

Keir cupped Patryk’s face, easing his hand to his nape where he played with the soft hair there. “You trust me to make it good for you when we do it, Patryk?”