He uncovered the paints he’d left on his huge palette. Plastic kept
them wet so they could be used a second day.
Funny how he hadn’t minded pretending to be Bobby all that much.
The world looked different when people expected him to be nice.
Clearing his mind, he faced the wall and began to paint.
A second later—maybe more like an hour—the scaffold began to shake.
Okay, get ready to be your brother.
Paolo’s perfect face popped over the top, and he gave Robin a half
smile that reminded him of himself. Robin plastered on the huge, pearly Bobby
Paolo swung himself up and gazed at the wall. “Man, you made some
progress. But you covered over some of the light parts. Decide against them?”
Robin planted a hand on his hip. “Yes, I didn’t think it deserved
to be too sunny.”
“I like this better.”
“You would.” He arched a brow, and Paolo snorted a laugh.
“So did you get the pieces mailed?” Paolo kept staring at the
What the hell? “Uh, yes.”
Those piercing eyes stared at Robin. “Was Robin there when you went
“Oh, yes. Yes, he was.”
“So he went to the post office?”
“Uh-huh.” Robin daubed some paint on the mural. What the hell was
Paolo talking about?
“So you sent off that coat and jacket?” Paolo stood. Robin could
feel the movement more than see it as he stared hard at the wall.
Well, shit. Coat? “Right.” Try
to look engrossed.
Strong hands clasped his shoulders, and he was physically turned.
Okay, Robin was pretty strong, but Paolo stood a good five inches taller and fifty
pounds heavier, plus Robin wasn’t fighting. Paolo gave him a narrow-eyed smile.
“I thought we could take up where we left off last night.” He leaned in and his
lips captured Robin’s with an intensity that spoke of dark bedrooms, not narrow
wooden platforms in the sky.
Do not give a shit. Those lips are heaven.
Robin dropped his brush—God knew what it did to Paolo’s $300
jeans—and wrapped his arms around Paolo so tight he could have been arrested
for kidnapping. Paolo’s tongue scoured the secret hiding places in Robin’s
mouth, and for a moment Robin forgot try to take charge. He just enjoyed and
let one leg float up Paolo’s hip. Five inches doth not a solid contact make,
but Robin humped Paolo’s thigh and pressed the heel of his hand against the big
bulge in Paolo’s pants. Oh yeah, that got a moan of enthusiasm from Mr. Hunky
Robin slid his hands over Paolo’s hard-as-iron butt—What does he do with that thing?—and
squeezed and released. Damn, if they lay down, could they fuck here? No, no
lube or condoms. But a good blowjob could still be in order.
Robin released Paolo and started sliding to the floor. It took work
to inch down Paolo’s fly over that mighty erection, but finally he achieved
release and reached into a pair of baby blue boxer briefs to free the
“My oh my.” Long, sturdy, cut, and straight as an arrow.
Paolo just breathed—really loudly.
“Mine.” Robin licked the fat head and got a slow, soft moan from
Paolo. Ah yes, encouragement. Wonder how
far Bobby went last night? He laved the sides of the shaft, then, counting
on the element of surprise, thrust that solid eight-inch dick into his mouth
and down his throat in one smooth move.
“Holy shit!” Paolo locked his hands in Robin’s hair. Pushed and
pulled back, pushed and pulled back. Robin’s tongue reveled in the smooth
firmness of the shaft, the silk of the head, and the intrigue of secret
crevices. “Oh man. Oh.” Steadily, Paolo pushed Robin in farther and farther—then
suddenly, with a yank, he pulled Robin’s head away from his cock until he
looked down in his face.
“Why’d you make me stop? You don’t appreciate talent?” Robin
Paolo gazed at him. “I do appreciate talent, and you’re loaded with
it on every level. What I don’t appreciate are liars, and you sure as fuck