A Coffee Away

Chapter 8 The Real Me

Robbie

Acouple of days had passed since our visit home, and I couldn’t stop painting.

I spent day and night in front of my canvas, swallowed in a darkness I’d never faced.

Fragmented pieces of my life stared at me.

A kaleidoscope of colors and memories forever broken.

Each was a piece of myself I’d never recover, but each was part of my whole.

The real me lay in all those moments and memories because even though my parents wouldn’t accept me, I was the son they raised, and I couldn’t be prouder of being me.

Warmth enveloped me as Esteban wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck.

“How are you doing?” His raspy voice woke something in me.

I turned. “Better now.” I kissed him hungrily.

Our conversation about BDSM two days ago had been interesting, to say the least, and I’d promised to think about it, but I was ready for more.

I pulled him to me until his body molded to mine. “Yes,” was all I said as I grabbed

his asscheek and drew him to my aching cock.

I gasped as Esteban grabbed my neck and pushed away with enough force to put some distance between us. “Yes to what, Robbie? I need you to say it.”

His voice and intensity sent a shiver through me.

My heart pounded against my ribcage. “I want this. I want you. All of you. As you are.” I couldn’t wait any longer. Whatever he had to offer, I’d take it.

Esteban grunted and drew me into a kiss that was more than I could bear. It was filled with raw, unadulterated need. My body burned with want as he grabbed my ponytail and pulled hard, baring my throat to him. He kissed me there and moved down to where it met my shoulder, then he bit me.

I groaned, my dick hard as a rock.

“Remember your safe word.”

I nodded. The fire inside threatened to incinerate me from the inside out.

We talked about the need for a safe word if I couldn’t take any more. I chose whiskey.

“You’ll do what I say, and you won’t come until I give you permission. Understand?”

I nodded again, unable to form the words due to the heat of his touch. His words.

“Words, Roberto.” His tone carried authority. Power.

“I understand, sir.”

He inhaled at that last word.

He hadn’t asked me to call him that, but I wanted to try it. And judging by his reaction, I guess he liked it.

The rumble in his chest was enough to render me useless at his feet. “Good boy.”

He took my hand, and I followed him into the bedroom. He sat in a reclining chair that faced the bed.

I stood in front of him, motionless and quiet. My body burned with anticipation.

“Strip.” He leaned back in the chair, his elbow propped on the armrest, his hand covering his lips.

I took off my shirt, then undid my belt.

“Slowly,” Esteban whispered as I pulled on the belt and let it fall.

I opened the button of my shorts, then my zipper, my gaze never leaving his. The drumming in my chest intensified as he licked his lips. His bulge grew inside his pants, and I wondered who was truly in control here.

I put my hand over my boxers and grabbed my cock.

Esteban tsked. “Naughty boy. I didn’t say you could touch yourself.” He clenched the hand that rested on his left leg, running his nails along the fabric of his tight black jeans.

“Sorry, sir.” I removed my shorts slowly like he wanted.

I stood in front of him in nothing but my boxers, and even though I wanted this, I trembled. This was so new to me. So daring.

Esteban pointed at my boxers. “Everything.”

I obeyed. I was exposed, my whole body bared to him. It was almost too much to be this vulnerable in raw daylight, but I breathed slowly and easily. I had to show him I could take it.

“Hands and knees on the bed.” There wasn’t a shred of doubt in his voice.

He was in his element, and I only wanted to obey him.

As my pulse thundered against my throat, I got on all fours on the bed.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

I couldn’t help but comply. I stroked my dick slowly at first, then faster, thinking of him watching me like this.

Crack. He spanked my right asscheek, and I moaned, the pain and pleasure mixing in a delectable way as he caressed the area where his hand connected. “That was for touching yourself before I gave permission.”

Crack. I jerked forward.

He passed his tongue over my left asscheek, then blew on the sensitive area. “You’re mesmerizing.”

Esteban eased my legs apart with his knee, holding my cheeks apart. He rubbed his thumb over my hole, my body arching at the brief contact. “Are you prepped for me?”

I nodded. I’d been wanting this for days. The flutter in my stomach became unbearable. I couldn’t see what he was doing, and it only aroused me more.

Then his mouth was on me, invading my most secret spot.

I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of his tongue. Its tip entered me just barely, but it was enough to make me pucker up.

“So needy.” He squeezed my cheeks apart and devoured my hole.

I fought to keep still. To not come.

I wanted to feel all of him.

He grabbed my hip with his left hand, then slid his right index and middle fingers into my mouth. “Suck.”

He shoved his fingers all the way inside my mouth, pushing them in and out again and again. I closed my eyes, imagining it was his cock, and worked my mouth over them.

He let go of my hip, and I stilled at the unmistakable noise of his zipper.

“Who said you could stop touching yourself?” Irritation mixed with lust coated Esteban’s words.

I grabbed my shaft and stroked.

He pulled his fingers out of my mouth and touched my hole, using my saliva to coat my entrance.

I buckled as his finger slipped inside.

It was a welcome invasion. He trailed his hand up my back and grasped my hair. I moaned as he inserted the other finger, rubbing at my tight hole until it relaxed.

I moved my hips as he fucked me with his fingers, then he pulled out.

He grabbed my right hip and moved his other hand over mine, stroking my shaft as he pressed his body against me.

He let go of my dick. The distinctive sound of lube being squeezed reached me, and I puckered up, ready to at last have Esteban claim me. I clenched my hand on the black satin sheets. My body was taut but expectant.

The brush of his fingers over my hole and his soft caress on my asscheek calmed me.

“That’s it, babe. Relax. Open for me. Let me claim you.” He spoke next to my ear with a possessive tone, then nibbled my earlobe, sending a current of pleasure straight to my balls.

I gasped as his tip pressed against my ass. He gripped my hip, and in one swift move, he pushed his head in.

“Fuck!” we cried in unison.

“Are you all right?” Esteban traced my hip.

“Yes, sir.” I moved back, eager to feel more of him.

Slowly, meticulously, he entered me inch by inch.

The pain radiated around my ass, but pleasure was building, and I let myself relax.

Esteban slid his dick inside me fully until all I could feel was him. Then he stopped and took me in his hand again. My cock was not as hard as before, but he touched me until it was firm, then started rocking inside me.

I moaned as he hit that spot inside me that would take me there.

“You’re so tight.” He groaned.

He clutched my hip with enough force to leave bruises, but I liked it. His strength. His control.

He pulled his cock out until the tip was all that was left inside, then slammed it in, eliciting a cry of pure ecstasy as he hit me deep, his hand still around me, squeezing hard.

The orgasm was so near that I couldn’t breathe. “Please. I need to come.”

“Not yet.” He started pounding harder.

I was screaming in bliss. All the curse words I could muster escaped my lips as he took me hard. But this time, I was ready, and it was not pain but pleasure that grew inside me.

“Please, sir,” I begged.

Esteban bent over me. “Come with me.”

I came hard, spilling on the bed as Esteban growled and filled me with his cum.

His cock pulsed deep inside me for a long moment until he slipped out. He hugged me and lay beside me on the bed, spooning me. Hot kisses seared my nape.

“God, you were magnificent.”

I giggled and turned to him, brushing his lower lip with my thumb. “Thank you. That was…something else.” Out of this world. Mind-blowing. Freaking amazing.

He smiled and kissed my thumb playfully. “Thanks for trusting me.”

He held me against his chest, and we stayed like that, basking in each other until we fell asleep.

Days passed, and it was time to take my art to Mr. Rodríguez, my boss and owner of the gallery where I worked. I’d never met him in person. He spent most of his time abroad, searching for art.

Miguel, the curator I worked with, was co-owner of the gallery and the one who hired me. But for the exhibitions, Mr. Rodríguez had the final say. He’d seen my art in pictures and had agreed to give me a night to show and sell it, but he wanted to meet me in person and see my latest art pieces.

“Remember that last piece. That one’s a keeper,” Esteban said from the kitchen as he prepared our usual energy blend to go.

We liked to walk, and the sun was merciless.

“I did, but you exaggerate.” I was closing the canvas bag when Esteban smacked my ass.

“Hey!” I yelped.

“What have I told you about talking shit about yourself? That’s a fucking masterpiece.” Esteban wrapped his arms around me from behind, then kissed my cheek.

It was a painting I finished the day we first had sex. A montage of my life. A mosaic of what made me who I was today. It had become Esteban’s favorite art piece, and I quote, “A perfect picture of who you truly are.”

Esteban let go and turned me around. His perfect dimples did things to me. He was an incredible lover with insatiable hunger, and I couldn’t be happier. He complemented me in ways I never imagined, and as days passed, he showed me more of his dominant side.

Esteban lived for my pleasure, and the things he did made me quiver in ecstasy. He was always there for me, and nothing happened unless I was ready for it. Each session made me dig deeper into who I truly was. The pleasure mixed with the pain he so beautifully gave woke my deepest desires.

I was happy to submit. My life was enough chaos as it was, and he made me forget all my troubles and face them in a way I never thought possible. He helped me delve into my darkness and find my way out of it.

Esteban kissed me, his tongue tenderly tasting my lower lip as he bit it.

I gasped and deepened the kiss.

He pulled me in, one hand locked on my lower back, the other gripping my ass. His rough morning stubble grazed my neck as he nipped my earlobe, eliciting a hungry moan from me.

He touched his brow to mine, panting. “God, I want to take you so hard but the meeting.”

I gripped him over his pants. “We can always reschedule.”

He covered my hand with his, then squeezed. He grunted, pushing against it so I could feel the hard evidence of his arousal.

My mouth watered, and I closed my eyes.

“We could, but who knows when Mr. Rodríguez will be free again.” He kissed my hand without taking his eyes off me. “Later?”

I nodded, my body burning with desire. “Later.”

Esteban let out a soft exhale, gave me a mind-blowing kiss, then stepped back and lifted the canvas bag from the floor. “Let’s go.”

I couldn’t wait for later.

“C’mon.” Esteban was already at the door, my canvas bag in one hand, his tumbler in the other. He pointed at the counter with his pinkie. “Don’t forget yours.”

I grabbed my tanned leather satchel, one he’d bought me last week in Old San Juan, and my juice and hurried out.

The art gallery always amazed me. White walls, marble floors, and vibrant colors surrounded us in stunning pieces. My heart raced at the thought that soon my art would adorn these walls.

Two of my coworkers were mopping the floors as we entered, getting everything ready for a local artist exhibition that focused on life as a Puerto Rican and our culture.

“Come right in!” An average-height man approached us. His gray jeans and black polo shirt made him seem younger than what Miguel had told me. He extended a hand toward me. “Mr. Fernández, a pleasure to meet you. Thanks for coming in on your free day.”

It was weird to be called by my last name. I shook his hand. “Please call me Robbie.”

He bowed comically. “Rodríguez at your service. You can call me Quique.” His gaze drifted toward Esteban. “You must be Mr. Miranda.” He offered his hand.

Esteban shook it. “Esteban. Nice to meet you at last.”

Quique took off his black beret and raked his dark-brown curls back before putting it on again. He had this typical artist look. Very down to earth. “Same here. Did you bring the rest of the pieces? Miguel is anxious to see them, as am I.”

“Here you go.” Esteban passed him the canvas bag.

“Perfect.” He took it and gestured for us to follow him. “Let’s go to the back. Miguel is already getting the last pieces for tonight ready.” He glanced back. “I’d love to have you as my guests.”

I looked at Esteban, who smiled and shrugged, his eyebrows jumping in excitement.

My soul soared in anticipation. Being invited to an exhibition by the proprietor was an honor. “Sure. What time should we be here?”

Quique opened a door at the back and let us in. “Any time after seven is perfect.”

I smiled, then watched Esteban expectantly. He’d made reservations for a date tonight, but this was an opportunity I couldn’t miss.

Esteban grabbed my hand. “We’ll be here.”

I almost bounced on my toes. He was so good to me.

Quique winked at us. “Perfect!” He followed us in. “Miguel! Esteban and Robbie are here.”

Many of my pieces were displayed, and others were set on tables. My breath hitched.

Esteban squeezed my hand. His eyes gleamed as he came closer. “I’m so proud of you.”

My chest swelled at his words, and I couldn’t help but grin. I worked in this room on a daily basis, but seeing my art here was surreal. When I left my last shift, it was still in the storage room.

Miguel was in the back, preparing the labels for pieces that would be displayed tonight. His black tuxedo accentuated his bronze skin, and his straight, dark hair was polished and shaped perfectly into a 1930s hairstyle. Slick. Elegant.

“Robbie! Esteban!” He beamed and hugged each of us. He’d become a good friend of mine. “Give me those.” He snagged the canvas bag from Quique and took out my last piece first.

Quique whistled next to Miguel.

Miguel widened his eyes. “This is… It’s beautiful. When did you paint this?”

I shifted in place. “Two weeks ago.”

He gripped the canvas, his amber eyes glazing. “This is your best work yet. I can see it. Everything that makes you—you.”

My heart swelled. I shifted in place. No one but Esteban had talked about my artwork like that before.

“It’s true, Robbie. It’s amazing. This should be the centerpiece of your exhibition. This painting has something…” Quique rubbed his chin. “It’s like your soul is captured in this canvas.”

Tears threatened to leave my eyes as my whole life reeled through my mind. Everything that brought me to this moment was in that painting.

The ups and downs. The light and the darkness.

Esteban’s fingers intertwined with mine, and my soul vibrated to life.

Here. Right now. I had everything I could dream of.