A Picture's Worth

Eilis swept up Fletcher's hand. "You got it!" she called, already dragging him away.

That left Mason and me standing in the center of the gallery. Together. My feet were still stuck to the floor, so I cleared my throat. "That guy called you 'Rip.'"

"Some people do. Your given name is Joseph?"

"Yeah, but I like Joe."

He watched Eilis go from picture to picture. "Fair enough."

There had to be some way I could extend this conversation. "I heard this was your first show in awhile."

"Been out of town, and I'm never in one place for long. Playing with the idea of setting down roots, though."

I wanted to ask where he might put down his roots. I opted for safer conversation. "Good turnout. You must be excited."

He looked up at me, shrugged. "I'm bored out of my mind. Your sister livened things up, though."

I winced.

Mason blew out a soft breath. "What are you doing here?"

"My sister is crazy about you, and her husband's out of town—"

"The truth, if you don't mind."

My gaze dropped as I slipped my hands into my pockets. "I didn't know who you were. I wanted to see you again."

"Because I'm famous?"

"No. Because I can't seem to stay away."

He closed the distance between us, caught my gaze with his coffee brown eyes. "So why did you leave Tuesday?"

A confused frown creased my brow. "You wanted me to go."

"Did you want to go?"

My voice was soft, tentative. "No."

"Then why didn't you fight to stay?"

The question threw me, and so did my response. "Why didn't you fight to keep me?"

His face cleared as a smile touched his mouth. "I could use some fresh air." He straightened, stretched, and walked away.

When I didn't follow, he glanced over his shoulder. "Coming or what?"

All at once, I didn't feel so shattered, and I walked with him out of the gallery.

-- Five --

Mason flopped down onto a bench outside the gallery and let his head fall back. "I could really go for a cigarette."

I stood awkwardly in front of him. "You smoke?"

"Not anymore. Apparently they're bad for you."

I laughed softly.

He straightened and watched me until my laughter faded. "Sit next to me, Joe."

I sat down beside him.

"Are you one of those guys?" he asked, twisting around to look at me straight on.

"What guys?"

"The ones that have to be told what to do. You need to be stepped on every once in awhile?"

Shocked, I shoved myself to the other end of the bench. "No! I don't . . . I'm not . . ." I curled forward, tugged at my hair. "Fuck! I don't know why I'm like this when I'm with you."

He chuckled, and a flash lit the night air.

Straightening, I blinked against the darkness. "Did you just—"

He took another picture, blinding me for a second.

"Stop that!"

"Stop?" He lowered his camera just enough to let me see his grin. "Isn't this what you wanted from me?"

I paused, gripped the edge of the bench as I turned to stare at the street. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"I told you."

"Tell me more."

More. That meant I had to think things through, and I didn't like thinking about this. But somehow I knew this was my last chance with Mason, and if I didn't try, he would be out of my life forever. "I have a great body."

"I noticed."

My head whipped around to look at him. "Really?"

Another flash went off in my face.

Irritated now, I rubbed at my eyes. "Dammit, Mason! Put that thing away."

His teasing tone didn't improve my mood. "Talk to me. After a while you won't even notice it."

Shooting him a dark glance, I went back to staring at the street. "I'm not very smart, I'm not very funny, I'm not very talented. It's like . . . It's like I'm just a body, walking around and posing. I don't think it was always like that. I was hoping you could help me remember."

His flash went off again, but this time I was more aware of the soft click and whirr made by his camera.

"Do you like looking the way you do?"

I linked my hands together, and he took another picture. "Oh yeah. I love being big."

"Why?"

A hollow chuckle escaped me, and I heard that click and whirr. "I guess I've always been trying to get people to see me."

"That's why you work so hard?"

"When I was a kid, Eilis was the one to watch. She was pretty, and smart, and into art. Everyone adored her. My grades were okay, but never more than average. I was skinny and gangly. When I got to junior high my skin erupted and didn't clear up until after highschool."

Click. Whirr.

"You felt invisible?"

"I was invisible. Nothing I did could compare to Eilis. Even my name isn't as exciting as hers."

Click. Whirr.

"Didn't you have friends?"

"Not really. A lot of guys came over to our house, but they just wanted to get a look at my sister."

"Were you jealous of her?"

I closed my eyes. "God, yeah. Don't get me wrong, I love Eilis. And it's not like she ever let it go to her head, you know? But she couldn't help being perfect. So I had to find some place, some niche, to carve out for myself. Bodybuilding did the trick, fixed things for a while."

"It's not doing it anymore?"

"Bodybuilding is fulfilling in so many ways. I'm going to do it as long as I can. I just need . . . something. I don't know what."

"Your picture on one of my walls?"

"No, that's not it."

"An apology from your family?"

I chuckled. "No." Noticing the quiet, I glanced up at him. "When did you stop snapping pictures?"

He smiled, and I felt his warmth for the first time. "I told you that you wouldn't notice the flash."

Mason took another photo, and I looked directly into the lens. "I'm not wasting your film?"

Click. Whirr.

"Tonight you're worth every frame."

A blush crept into my skin, but I didn't look away from the camera. "You make me shy."

"Why is that?"

"I'm not sure. I'm almost never shy anymore, but I turn into an idiot whenever I'm around you."

"Do you like how I make you feel?"

Finally, I dropped my gaze. "Most of the time. You just about killed me when you asked to take Eilis's picture, though."

"I'm photographing you right now."

A smile ghosted on my lips. "Yeah."

"Would you like to come to my place tonight, Joe?"

My head shot up.

Flash. Click. Whirr.

I clenched my fists tight. "That was a cruel thing to do, just to get your fucking picture."

His face appeared from behind the camera. "I didn't ask just to get your picture. I'm really inviting you to my place."

So far, I'd misunderstood almost everything about Mason Ripley. It scared me to think he was offering what I'd wanted since I saw him in Central Park, and so I played it safe. "I don't think I can pose in front of your backdrop again."

He slid his camera into its case. "I don't want you in front of my backdrop. I want you in my bed."

My fingers uncurled. "Now?"

"Now."

Unsure whether I was ready for this, I fished around for excuses. "I have to make sure my sister gets home alright."

"I'll have Fletch take her home. He's safe as houses."

"Safe as houses? I haven't heard that phrase since my grandparents—"

"Kiss me, Joe."

My body shivered as I let out a soft, shaky breath. Slowly, I slid to his side of the bench and lowered my head, touched my lips to his.

It felt like a flashbulb going off in my brain. Intense. Brilliant. Blinding. I had to close my eyes just to survive it. His mouth tasted faintly of champagne, adding to the dizzying flood of sensation. And then his fingers were in my hair—twisting, tugging. It was too much, and I groaned loudly into his mouth.

Mason gently broke the contact, grazed my ear with his teeth. "You are one of those guys, aren't you?"

"No. Maybe. Shit." I turned my head, trailed desperate kisses over his cheek. "If I am, it's just with you."

"What's so special about me?"

My hand skimmed over his thigh, drew him closer. "You force my heart to beat."

Mason rose to his feet, leaving me alone on the bench. I stared up at him, feeling dazed and cold, unable to voice the questions knocking around in my head.

He ran his fingers through his hair and held out his hand. "Come home with me, Joe."

His eyes, or his voice, or his kiss had cast some kind of spell over me. I took his hand, towered over him after he helped me to my feet. "Okay."

A slow grin curved his mouth. "You're an interesting one, Joe Wilson. I was hoping you'd finally let me see it."

He walked away from the bench, and I hurried to fall into step beside him. "I-I want you to see more."

"Good, because that's exactly what I intend to do."

-- Six --

Sitting in a taxi with Mason Ripley was . . . intoxicating, scorching, excruciating. He stopped talking altogether once we got in, and was focusing on the scenery passing by his window.

Was he having second thoughts? Why couldn't I say anything? I felt blank, just like that first day in Central Park.

I fidgeted, opened my mouth, closed it, and fidgeted again.

"Do you need some small talk, Joe?" asked Mason, his gaze still on his window.

His profile was cast in shadow, coming into view whenever we passed under a street lamp. The fact that he'd spoken at all relieved a lot of the tension in me, but I was too proud to admit that. "No."

His mouth curved with a faint smile. "What sort of music do you like?"

He was teasing me, but I answered anyway. "Rock, mostly. I saw this guy on tv today, though. He had this powerful, haunting voice as he sang in Italian, and he was blind. I wish I could remember his name."

"Andrea Bocelli?"

The name struck a chord. "Yeah, I think that might be it. Do you like his stuff?"

"I've got most of his CD's. I'll pop one in once we get to my place, if you want."

The thought of what was going to happen a few minutes from now wiped my mind blank again.

"Are you turned on right now?"

And Mason wasn't helping. In fact, he seemed to enjoy my awkwardness. "Yes."

He was quiet for a few seconds, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost a little of its playfulness. "Have you ever in your life just taken what you want?"

The question jarred me, and I stumbled to defend myself. "Hey, I was bullied a lot when I was younger. You can't blame me for wanting to make sure I don't treat other people that way."

Silence. I thought maybe I'd screwed my chances with him.

"They're not the same, you know. You can be assertive without being a bully."

What the hell did he want from me? "I'm assertive."

"Have you been on a lot of magazine covers?"

I didn't know what to make of his change of subject, and he was still staring out that damned window. "I've been on most of the fitness mags."

"Those photographers, they told you how to stand, what to flex, what expression to paint on your face? Did they pose you like you were some kind of doll?"

The trace of anger confused me. "Yeah, but that's how the industry works."

His face hardened. "That kind of photography can cause a person to fade. There was nothing to you when we met in Central Park, except that one, small spark of anger. I tried to get that spark back when you came to my apartment, and you ran away from me. I thought maybe you were hollow, after all."

My words were a whisper. "And tonight?"

"Tonight you were alive. I was afraid that it was an illusion, that you were reflecting your sister." Some of the hardness left him. "That's why I had to get you alone. I'm glad I got you alone."

I still had no idea what he wanted. But I knew what I wanted. Sliding closer, I stretched my arm behind him as I tried to catch his gaze. "Why won't you look at me?"

His mouth crooked. "Because if I do, then we will most definitely be fucking in the back seat of this cab."

The idea that he was just as turned on as me was liberating, but I didn't try to force him to look up. Instead, I pressed my body against his, lowered my head. Soft strands of chestnut hair tickled my skin as I inhaled his scent. He smelled fresh—like grass clippings and new leaves. Invigorating and vital.

I pressed my lips to his temple before licking his ear. Mason took a deep breath, and I smiled against his skin. He tilted his head back, and with his eyes shut, he let me kiss him.

Just as I was about to slip my hand into his pants, the taxi pulled to a stop. Mason got out, paid the cabbie, and walked into his apartment building without waiting to see if I was following.

But of course I was following, and this time the silence wasn't nearly as uncomfortable.

He unlocked the door, went inside. I closed it behind me, watched him remove his camera from around his neck and gently place it on a table against the wall.

"Undress."

Needing no more than that, I shrugged out of my jacket, undid my tie.

With his back to me, Mason took off his own jacket and let it fall to the floor. Then he reached behind him, grabbed his shirt between his shoulder blades, and pulled it off over his head.

My hands paused at my fly as his muscles worked beneath his skin. I hadn't expected him to be so fit. He had one of those rough hewn bodies: the kind that aren't built in a gym. His symmetry was off—his right side was a little more developed than the left—but I doubted he cared.

Neither did I.

He turned, and I stripped my pants off my thick legs before he crossed the room. I wanted to show him all my muscles, the best part of me.

Mason's gaze never left mine as he slipped his hand behind my neck and drew me down to his mouth.

That explosion in my brain again, and the sparks from it cascaded down my body, lighting me up from the inside out. His smooth lips glided over mine—caressing, mastering, imprinting his taste on me forever. When he pulled away, I could only stare at him in shock.

Most people I'd had sex with had gone for the muscle worship first. I hadn't been prepared for such a mind-blowing kiss.

Mason chuckled. "I wish I hadn't put my camera away. Your face is perfect, Joe." Using only his index finger, he teased the band of my briefs.

I whipped those off as well, exposing myself to him, waiting for his reaction.

His gaze traveled down my pecs, my abs, rested on my cock, then went on to take in my thighs, calves, feet. It was slow. It was erotic. It was torturous.

By the time his gaze made it back to my eyes, I was hard and aching for his touch.

"You really do have a fantastic body," he said softly.

I bent over, unfastened the clasp to his slacks. In my haste to remove them, I tore the material. "Shit."

He leaned forward and dropped a soft kiss onto my shoulder. "It's alright. I hate penguin suits with a passion."

Going a little slower, I took his pants off his legs, then his boxer shorts. A ragged scar on his thigh caught my attention, and I slid my thumb over it. "Where did you get this?"

"Got caught in some falling debris after the Towers fell."

"You were taking pictures?"

"Yeah."

I rose up, taking a closer look at his body. There was another, diagonal scar across his upper abs. "What about this one?"

"Piece of glass sliced me during a hurricane."

Frowning, I straightened and touched a circular mark on his shoulder. "This?"

"I was covering rebel activity in a Middle East hot spot. Came home with a souvenir."

I caressed the wound, and then my fingers trailed over his face. "You live dangerously."

"Not so much anymore." He kissed my chest, swirled his tongue over one of my nipples. "These days I prefer quiet scenes, happy people."

It got harder to breathe, and I ran my hands over his bare back. His muscles tensed under my palms. "Settling down?"

His fingers closed around my cock, stroked the long length of me. "I don't 'settle' for anything, Joe."

My body shook so hard with pleasure that he was knocked back a step.

"Sorry," I said, my chest heaving. "Sometimes I get a little—"

"Don't apologize." He grinned, pressed his palm flat against my pecs. With a gentle push, he guided me to the bed. I laid back against the mattress and he straddled my thighs. "Just let yourself go."

I grabbed hold of him and dragged him against my body. He was light—no more than 170 pounds—but he was hard and warm. I wrapped my arms around him, held him tight.

Mason chuckled, kissed my forehead, the bridge of my nose. His hands skimmed over my biceps, and I flexed into his palms, overflowing them. He captured my mouth, rubbed his body over mine. I shuddered hugely.

"You're like an earthquake when you're turned on, did you know?"

I cupped my hands over his ass: stroking him, kneading him. "No one's ever said that before, so it must be you." I took control of his movements, wanting to feel his cock slide against mine.

He hissed, let me have my way with him for a while. "That feels so good."

A moan was my only response.

His mouth found its way to the curve of my neck. "I want to be inside of you."

"I want that too."

His lips curved; his teeth nipped at my heated skin. "Then loosen this vice grip you've got on me, so I can get a condom."

I smiled, reluctantly let my arms fall away.

He slid from my body, opened up a drawer in the night-stand. He pulled out a square, silver packet and started to tear it open.

I sat up, brought him back to my lap. I took the packet from him, stroking the contours of his stiff, veined erection before wrapping it in the condom. Lowering my head, I slid my arms under his ass again and lifted him to my mouth.

Mason gripped my traps to keep his balance, his fingers clenching hard.

Tenderly, I kissed the head of his dick. It throbbed against my lips, welcoming me. I nuzzled his crotch, breathing in his musk while my cheek rubbed against his pole.

He groaned softly, and there were no smart words, no teasing jibes.

I opened my mouth wide, took him all the way into my throat in one try. Mason fell forward, burying his face in my hair as my tongue lapped at his pole. I sucked him until he was soaked with my saliva, until I wasn't the only one quaking.

Then I lowered him to the mattress, laid back, and spread my legs for him. "I've never had someone inside of me before."

Mason leaned heavily on my upraised knees, breathless. "You're just full of surprises tonight, aren't you?"

Because he thought I was interesting, the teasing didn't bother me so much. I hugged his torso with my thighs. "Fuck me."

He grinned, lightly slid his finger up the line of my ass before delving inside to caress my hole. The muscles in my glutes clenched as my pucker tried to take him deeper. Mason kept brushing my taut skin that way—stroking me, circling my hole—until my entire body flexed in time with his touch.

When he removed his finger, I actually whimpered. But then he replaced it with something much, much better.

The head of his cock pressed against my pucker, eased in. My breath caught, and my desperate, eager body swallowed him greedily.

"Tight," he murmured, driving me crazy as he slowed his entry.

Unable to take it, I pressed the heels of my feet into his buttocks and slammed him into me.

His eyes widened briefly in surprise before he ran his hands over the big, teardrop shaped muscles of my thighs. I held him immobile, getting used to being filled for the first time. I didn't feel too bad about it, since he seemed to be savoring me as much as I was him.

Finally, I relaxed, ready for more.

Mason leaned forward, squeezing and massaging one of my pecs with one hand as he stroked my painfully hard cock with the other. His hips rocked against my ass; his pole plunged into me again and again.

I almost wanted to close my eyes, but that meant I wouldn't be able to see his.

My hands were all over him—his chest, his shoulders, his stomach—I couldn't get enough.

His skin began to glisten as his breath came in short, harsh gasps. But the smile never fully left his lips, his thrusts never lost their power, and his hand never left my cock.