Page 13 of Aries
“I’m impressed,” he said, sniffing the bar of soap in the shower. “It smells like hotel soap.”
“It is. I get flown around sometimes; I collect a lot of soap.”
“And the shower pressure too,” he said, sighing under the water. “For a loft apartment, this is incredible.” He started rubbing the soap on my body, scrubbing away at the paint.
“When I was viewing the place, I asked them to turn the shower on so I could see. The agent thought it was a weird request, but I’d been through many viewings and some of the showers were like drips and cold drips at that.”
I grabbed shampoo from the caddy on the wall. “This is also hotel shampoo. I pour the little ones into this.”
“Thrifty.” He took the bottle and poured a handful out onto my head. “I read you make a lot from selling your art.”
“That’s before taxes and commissions,” I told him. “But yeah, I suppose I make good money.” I raised my brows at him, wondering where he was going with this. I wasn’t ashamed to tell him how much I made, most of the information was public considering the sales were usually in the art section of the news. “And you also know New York is an expensive place to live, especially when you have to waste money on fancy clothes and champagne.”
There was no longer a sexual vibe between us, but that was fine. My body had been thoroughly worked out last night, and mentally, after expressing myself on the canvas, I wasn’t that horny.
“How about this,” he said, making suds lather on my body. “I take you out for something to eat, and then you can come see me work. Since I’ve had the pleasure of watching you.”
I’d never seen people being tattooed before, and I was far too indecisive to get a permanent one on my own skin. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” he said. “Now, why don’t you come rub that soap on me.” He swiped his hand in the bubbles and pressed it against his chest. “And don’t worry, I won’t pressure you into getting ink. You can even look at my art process.”
I spent a lot of my time around other artists, the type to paint on canvas, but I definitely appreciated art in all of its forms. Performance arts and digital arts, there was no end of art and expression in the city. It’s why I landed here and thankfully on my feet when I did.
“I think you’ve already inked me enough,” I said, transferring the bubbles from me to him. In the glisten of my wet skin, the purple and blue tone love bites were glossy.
“Don’t tempt me,” he said, turning me around to rub his chest on my back. “I might go in for another. There doesn’t seem to be much marking you here.” His hand squeezed my ass. “Except the ones I left here.”
And the horny devil inside me was making an appearance, but I was strangely conscious of the time, and I didn’t want him being late for work.
We finished washing ourselves, even though our cocks had chubbed up slightly from the intimate contact with each other. Neither of us did anything about it, it was like being teased, but not being talked about.
Gael dried me in my large towel, patting me down and patting a feel down my body. I mimicked his motions, except I focused on the heavier tattooed parts of him, wondering if they hurt to get stabbed over and over by a needle. The groin must’ve been a pain, especially with all the detailed line work.
“Come on,” he said. “Or we might not have time to eat. And I need to show you this bagel place.”
I was sold. He didn’t need to mention it twice. My belly rumbled. I hadn’t eaten much before he arrived, and we weren’t fucking again—fingers crossed.
6. GAEL
I never let people into parts of my life. Being around Ash was forcing me to look at myself and the armor I wore. My tattoos were that armor, they kept people from approaching me on the street because of the stigma, people assumed you were threatening in some way, or perhaps that was the aura I put out.
“Did you walk here?” he asked once we were out on the street.
“You don’t like walking?” I asked, adjusting the bag on my arm. “If you remember, the way we met was from you walking around the streets.”
“You make me sound very different, I’m not a street walker.”
I grabbed him in an embrace and kissed him. “No, but you do walk the street, so by that very logical definition, I’d argue with that.”
He looked up at me and kissed me back. “So, where’s this magical bagel shop?” he asked. “And I need a coffee. I can’t people without coffee.”
On the streets with all these people, it didn’t feel like they were even real. These people were side characters to our story right now, that meant they weren’t real, they didn’t exist without us. And I hadn’t felt that weirdly self-obsessed since I was in my twenties. It was a strange, yet lovingly warm feeling.
“They sell coffee,” I told him. “And you want people to see those?” I gestured to the marks on his neck. “I don’t want people getting the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea?” he asked, cocking his head. “You mean, I didn’t have the best sex of my entire life that night.”
“The best.”