Epilogue
Kingston
One year later
“Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
“Hold more still.”
“I’m hungry. And horny.”
“Five more minutes.”
“That’s a literal eternity.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
I take a slow, deep breath, hold it for five, and let it out again just as slowly. It’s a trick Toby taught me to deal with the boredom of live modeling. Sure, he could take photos, but I’m paranoid about creating digital evidence of me in my current state. So he’s got an easel set up in the living room with a large piece of drawing paper on a board. I’m naked, and hard, per his request. He had this idea ages ago, but between my work schedule, his recent London art show, celebrating our friends as they experienced anniversaries and other milestone life events, it’s been a busy year.
“Are you done?” I ask. My ass is numb.
“Five minutes isn’t up yet.”
“Seriously?”
“Almost.”
I bite my lip and keep my cool. You’d think it would be hard to keep my erection for thirty minutes straight, but Toby had a fix for that. You see, I might be cock-out on the green velvet chair, but Toby’s equally nude behind his easel. I can see everything, daydream about everything we love doing with each other. And since I’ve been in the city for the past three days, I have plenty of pent-up sexual frustration to work out on my boyfriend the second he puts the pencil down and tells me I can move.
“What are we doing for dinner?” I ask.
“Jack and Pete invited us over,” he says absently, attention on his work in progress. “I told them we’d bring the wine.”
“What are we having?”
“Not sure. But Jack said Beck’s in charge of dessert.”
My stomach lets out an audible rumble.
Toby snort-laughs. “You are hungry, aren’t you?”
“I told you.”
I watch my boyfriend erase something on his pad, then sketch again. He’s beautiful when he works. He’s beautiful all the time—but it’s a privilege to see him like this, lost in his process, even if I’m doing my damnedest to distract him. He looks over the top of the easel at me, then makes another mark.
“Tobias Eric Wheaton, I know five minutes were up long ago,” I say sternly.
“Fine—I’m done.” He drops his pencil, wipes his hands on a nearby rag.
Finally. I shift in my seat, trying to restart my circulation. He walks two feet toward me, but I stop him with a growl.
“What—you’re not even going to show me?”
Toby laughs. “I thought you were so ready for food and other things.”
“Honey, please.” I’m never above begging when it comes to him.
He retraces his steps, turns the easel toward me. It’s a large drawing, simply me on the chair in the corner of the room, rendered in a detailed and incredibly realistic style.
“That’s how you drew me?” I ask, aghast. In the drawing my eyes are heavy-lidded, my mouth parted, my body a collection of sinewy curves that’s both an invitation and a promise.
Toby bites his lip, amused, and maybe a little nervous. He nods.
“I look…”
“Hot as sin,” he says, finally crossing the room and straddling my lap. His skin is cold, and I wrap my arms around him to warm him up.
“Debauched,” I counter.
“Decadent,” he suggests.
“Depraved,” I can’t resist adding.
“You look amazing, Kingston. And since this picture is just for me, I made you just as wicked as I wanted to.”
“Just for you, huh?”
“For my own personal pleasure,” he says, kissing me soundly on the lips.
My hands drop to his bare ass and squeeze. He brushes his mostly soft dick against my mostly hard one and shivers. All thoughts of hunger, of boredom, of scandalous drawings done by my mischievous artist boyfriend fall away as I embrace him, lick into his mouth, and feel him grow aroused in my arms.
“I want to give you pleasure,” I whisper.
He groans, rocking into me. “I love you so much, Kingston,” he says, the simple statement sending an electric shock of need through me.
“Love you, honey,” I say back, never taking the fact that he loves me and I love him for granted.
He lifts himself up, grasping my cock and positioning the tip at his entrance. At the immediate give of his body, I groan. “You minx,” I say as he slides down, taking me effortlessly.
“I told you I’d make it worth your while,” he says, a bit breathlessly, but the pride is there, too. He must have spent time prepping while I was driving up from the city.
I shift in the chair until we find an angle and a rhythm that makes me see stars and makes him plunge his tongue into my mouth. I kiss away his cries, overcome with the way his body’s open for me, greedy for me.
“That feel good, honey?” I ask. I’m getting close.
In answer, he throws his neck back, bouncing up and down, his hand stripping his cock furiously. He shoots all over my stomach and chest, painting me with his come. He’s spent, but he keeps up the rhythm like a champ until I let myself go, pouring my love into him, whispering it again over and over.
Eventually, we stop moving, stop telling each other how good we feel, how much we love each other. We’re on the green velvet chair, still joined, the wonderful mess growing cool on my belly. I look into Toby’s amber eyes and he looks into mine. “Time to get ready for dinner,” I say.
His pink mouth curves up. “You want to pick out what I’m going to wear?”
“Always. You want to pick out the wine?”
“Sure.”
I’m not complaining about the scorching sex, but it’s the little things like figuring out evening plans with the man I’m going to grow old with that make me truly happy.
A surprisingly loud meow comes from the direction of the kitchen.
We smile at each other. Then we get up to feed Luna together.
Thank you for reading the final installment in the Rosedale Seasons series!
And as a bonus, I’m sharing Beck’s sugar cookie recipe, which is truly a foolproof classic.
Enjoy!
xoxo,
Elle