Life Class

by Scarlet Blackwell

  It was Harley who moved first, sliding away from Ryan and walking naked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Ryan sighed and rolled onto his back. He removed his condom with lethargic fingers and tied a knot in it, reaching to drop it onto the bedside table.

  Then he sank back and let his thoughts overwhelm him. Jesus, that had been good. He could hardly pretend otherwise, much as he’d like to. Harley was such a sensual, erotic creature, and his body aroused Ryan so much it shocked him. He was supposed to be doing this for the money. Enjoyment wasn’t in the plan. But out of all the artists who’d paid him for sex, he’d enjoyed this interlude the most. I’m queer, he thought in horror. Look what Harley has done to me. He’s seduced me and corrupted me.

  He worked himself up into a lather of distaste until, at that moment, Harley came out of the bathroom and lay face down by Ryan’s side.

  One arm wrapped itself around Ryan’s torso, and Harley laid his head against his chest with a faint, infinitely satisfied sigh.

  All Ryan’s anger blew away instantly. He looked down into Harley’s face, at the dark crescents of his lashes against his cheeks, and one hand came up against his will to stroke the dark, unruly hair, the strands like silk under his fingers.

  Harley evidently liked this. He stretched sensually against Ryan and pressed a series of small kisses to his chest. Ryan shivered a little. His cock twitched treacherously. Harley lifted his head and zeroed in on one nipple, sucking it into his mouth and putting his tongue out to lick at its stiffening peak.

  Ryan had to stifle a groan as flames of lust throbbed their way down to his groin. Harley’s hand smoothed over his torso, tracing the arch of his ribs and the curve of his hip, before moving up one inner thigh.

  His hand closed around Ryan’s balls while he worked on his other nipple with lips and tongue, lightly scraping with teeth. He took hold of Ryan’s cock and drew him firmly back to full erection.

  Ryan’s hand tightened in his hair. He ached to be sucked off and wondered if it would be bad form to push Harley’s head down there when he was the one getting paid. But Harley started to work his way down Ryan’s torso regardless, and Ryan shuddered as those lips pressed burning kisses in a trail to his groin.

  Harley nuzzled the hair between his legs. His tongue crept around the base of Ryan’s shaft and licked firmly all the way from root to tip. Ryan drew in his breath and clutched at Harley’s hair as the artist’s tongue flicked teasingly over his slit.

  “Why did you never tell me that you like to paint?” Harley asked abruptly, and Ryan’s eyes snapped open, blinking, staring down at him in confusion, the tide of lust retreating.

  “What?” he asked stupidly.

  “That you like to paint,” Harley repeated. “All the times you sat for me, and you never told me.”

  His face was open, his eyes warm and so innocent that they melted Ryan to the core. He realized what Harley was talking about. The magazine of erotic photos he’d left in the studio six months ago in his rush to leave after Harley had kissed him.

  In small print beneath the photo of him stretched out naked on the sand was a very brief biography. Ryan Morgan is a thirty-two year old native of Newport Beach. When he is not working out his magnificent body, he likes to paint.

  Ryan’s face grew warm under Harley’s scrutiny as though a shameful secret had been revealed. “It was…something to tell them,” he said awkwardly. “I’m not exactly a man with many hobbies. I haven’t done it since high school.” But he’d loved it; he remembered that much. He ached with jealousy over Harley’s God-given talent and the fact he made money from it.

  Harley’s eyes were tender. One hand stroked the bony prominence of Ryan’s hip. “You could paint in my studio any time you wanted. I’d love to see your work.”

  For a moment Ryan’s throat felt tight. “That’s not exactly what I’m here for. After we’re done, I won’t be back.”

  Harley looked like Ryan had slapped him. If Ryan had been under any illusions about Harley’s feelings for him before, now he wasn’t. This wasn’t any sort of cheap fuck for Harley. Not that five thousand dollars was cheap. Ryan doubted Harley had paid for sex before, and yet now he was desperate enough to? The reasons for that seemed to be obvious, but Ryan would rather not face them. He would rather not think that walking out of Harley’s bedroom today would leave this man brokenhearted.

  Harley lowered his head a moment and went still. Then his hand moved to circle Ryan’s erection, and he said quietly, “In that case, I’d better get my money’s worth. Can we go again?”

  Ryan couldn’t have refused him even if he wanted to. He told himself this was all to do with guilt and earning his ridiculous fee rather than the fact he was hard as a rock and needed to get off again.

  He gripped Harley under the arms and dragged him up his body so they were torso to torso, Harley straddling his hips. Harley gave a soft moan of lascivious pleasure as their mouths met passionately, and the fire ignited in Ryan’s stomach once again. His hands tightened on Harley’s back, moving to his buttocks, massaging them, spreading them, maneuvering his partner so his cock was between them, and rubbed against his still-wet entrance.

  Harley drew in his breath and sucked on Ryan’s bottom lip, writhing, pressing down hard so Ryan felt himself engulfed.

  In panic, he gripped Harley’s hips to stay him. “Condom…” he protested with a gasp at the tightness squeezing the head of his cock.

  Harley drew back, to his relief, even though Ryan had almost been lost. He reached over for a condom, rolled it on Ryan and covered it with lube. Then he straddled Ryan’s waist again and lowered himself, forcing himself down inch by inch, sitting up, his head thrown back, gasping as he was impaled.

  “Fuck…” Ryan groaned out, his clenching fingers leaving red marks on Harley’s hips.

  “Ryan…” Harley panted in reply, his hand gripping his cock. “Ryan…”

  He jerked off, his body undulating sensually as he rode Ryan with an effortless rhythm, and something rose in Ryan’s breast. Ryan was a man like any other, perfectly capable of having cheap sex with no emotions involved, perfectly happy with never seeing his lover again after a one-night stand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt something during sex.

  But now, staring up at Harley, at the flush on his face and across the top of his chest, at the lashes trembling on his cheeks and the way his back arched, he felt something more than an explosive rush to orgasm.

  He felt the effects of six months without this man and this astonishing desperation for him. He felt need and desire and relief, and he was afraid.

  He slid his palms slowly up over Harley’s chest, his lover shuddering a little as Ryan squeezed his nipples, then he ran his hands down Harley’s back, taking a firm hold of his ass and thrusting up hard into him.

  Harley cried out, one hand pressed against Ryan’s chest, the nails clawing, while the other one continued to work his cock swiftly. Ryan pushed his hand away impatiently and replaced it with his own, and Harley groaned and bucked into it. He fell forward to kiss Ryan, hands clutching his face, tongue lashing his, breath hot and heavy.

  Ryan moved his hips faster, returned that kiss with equal passion and started to come. Harley was there just before him, though, stiffening and trembling on him, wrenching his mouth away to bury his face in Ryan’s neck. Semen spurted onto his chest, accompanied by a few stifled gasps. Ryan came seconds later, his eyes squeezed shut, grunts of appreciation spilling from his mouth, thrusting up over and over into that warm, tight body before he collapsed, spent, beneath his lover.

  Harley eased himself free within a few moments and fell gracefully onto his back. Ryan turned his head to glance at him. His torso gleamed with sweat and rose and fell rapidly. He had his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted.

  He was beautiful, Ryan thought. He was wrong to feel that way about another man. He lay still and silent, gathering the strength to leave, the coward in him hoping Harley would fall asleep.


  He got his wish. Harley’s breaths became slow and even, and his body relaxed beside Ryan’s. Ryan slid slowly to the edge of the bed. He reached over to the box of tissues on the bedside table and wiped Harley’s fluids from his chest before he wrapped the condom in the handful of tissues. Then he found his boxers and pulled them up to his knees, followed by his jeans, before standing.

  “Are you sneaking out without saying goodbye?”

  Ryan froze in the act of pulling his jeans over his ass. Frostily he replied, “Do I need your permission to leave your bed now you own me?”

  Harley was silent a moment before he spoke quietly. “I don’t think for a moment that I own you. I paid you for a service, which you gave me—”

  Ryan turned around, eyes flashing, interrupting. “Exactly, which means I’m now entitled to leave, or do I need to make you scream some more?”

  Harley’s mouth tightened as though he were sucking lemons. “You make it out to be such a hardship, Ryan, but I’ve never seen a straight man quite so…willing to perform.”

  There it was. Ryan almost flinched at the words. The barb he’d been expecting about his sexual prowess that day. He curled his lip scornfully. “Well, I don’t know, Harley. I’d pretty much do man or beast for five grand. That amount of money tends to give me a hard-on.”

  He regretted his words instantly. The anger drained from Harley’s face, and his eyes became luminous with hurt. He visibly swallowed as though he had something stuck in his throat.

  “And that’s all it was?” His voice was almost a whisper. “The money? You had no desire for me at all?”

  Ryan stared down at Harley naked on the bed, his skin honey against the pale bedclothes, his hair endearingly tousled, and he almost shuddered at the memory of being buried within him, those velvet lips on his and his hot breath flowing into his own mouth.

  “No,” he responded.

  He bent and picked up his shoes, socks and shirt and then he left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He made his way down the spiral staircase and there put on his socks and slid his feet into his shoes, bending to lace them up.

  As he straightened and pulled on his shirt, Maria came out of the living room. He blushed furiously before he reminded himself she would think he’d merely been modeling for Harley, even if it was strange that he was still getting dressed as he walked out the front door.

  He smiled at her as best he could through the lump in his throat, and she offered him a goodbye, her eyes darting indiscreetly down his chiseled torso before he buttoned up his shirt. He waited until she’d disappeared down the hallway, then he took the folded check from his back pocket and laid it on the telephone table.

  He opened the door and closed it behind him.

  He wouldn’t mind if the water was cold when he got home, because cold water was exactly what he needed to put out the fire which still raged within him. He hurried down the street. It was late. He’d spent longer pleasing Harley than he’d thought.

  Two men carried items of furniture down the path which led to his apartment block, and Ryan stepped around them, vaguely thinking the couch they held looked like his own. He climbed the steps to the first floor and there he stopped, because his front door was open and there were men inside his apartment.

  He charged inside and had floored one of the intruders with a punch before he recognized the man who came out of his bedroom—his landlord.

  “Just take it easy, Ryan,” the short, stocky man in the Hawaiian shirt said, raising his arms in placation as his colleague sullenly picked himself up from the floor.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ryan demanded, but his heart was already sinking because he knew.

  “I gave you one month’s notice,” his landlord told him. “That expired today.”

  “But… I thought…” He stared at his landlord in confusion. “I thought it was next week.”

  “It’s today. I’m sorry. I think I’ve been more than patient with you in the time you’ve been here. I’ve given you chance after chance and I’m going to lose four months’ rent now.”

  Ryan’s mouth opened and closed again. What could he say? He wasn’t a man to beg for anything. Right about then, he kind of wished he’d taken the check from Harley.

  “We’re taking your furniture to storage. You can pick it up when you find another place,” his landlord said, his tone softening. “Unless you want to take it now?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I’ll just get some clothes,” he mumbled, and moved past him into the bedroom.

  Twenty minutes later, Ryan sat on the wall overlooking the sea with his holdall beside him. He had two options. One, that he go to Jamie’s house, or two, he find himself a spot on the beach for the night. Pride would make him choose the latter.

  Chapter Eleven

  Harley was silent all the way from home after Nathan picked him up for their date the next day and now, as they walked along the pier, still didn’t speak, eyes hidden behind sunglasses and fixed straight ahead.

  After his tussle with Ryan, he remained fragile, both mentally and physically. Not only did he ache all over and hurt when he moved, but his heart stung with disappointment and loss.

  He would never see Ryan again. He wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with that knowledge. Thrown into this mix was the confusing fact that Ryan had left the five thousand dollar check on the table in the hall. So Harley hadn’t paid him for sex at all; Ryan had given it for free.

  Harley didn’t know what to make of that, and a part of him harbored some pathetic hope that it meant Ryan would be coming back, after he’d worked out his issues.

  The sex had been something else. Harley had never in a million years imagined Ryan would please him so effortlessly, despite the many fantasies he’d had with his own dick in his hand during the preceding six months.

  How he’d suffered and bled over Ryan, pining pointlessly for a straight man who would never be his. A straight man who’d kissed him back and fucked him like a trooper, he had to remind himself. Ryan might have been straight, but there must have been a part of him somewhere which found Harley attractive. Yeah, his dick, Harley thought. He’d offered it on a plate, and Ryan had taken it.

  Nathan had stopped and walked to the railings to look out over the ocean, and when Harley followed suit, he sighed loudly. “What’s wrong?” Even though he was more than used to Harley’s silences and brooding in the six months since he’d last seen Ryan. “You’ve seen him, haven’t you?” Nathan answered his own question with another. “Since the gallery.”

  Harley swallowed and turned away, debating how to answer. Nathan responded by cupping his cheek and turning his face back to him, removing his sunglasses with his other hand so he could look into his eyes. “Answer me,” he said, his voice quiet, but his tone firm.

  They remained looking at each other a moment before something registered at the periphery of Harley’s vision: a figure in black stood staring at them. Nathan’s hand fell from his face as Harley’s head whipped around in shock.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy?” Ryan spat, his sapphire eyes flat and cold, his tone laced with venom. “Moving on already, Harley?”

  Harley couldn’t believe the spite on Ryan’s face and how ugly it made him. He also couldn’t understand his attitude when Ryan had been the one to walk out on him, when Harley was the one with all the unrequited feelings here, not Ryan. Before he could retort, Nathan stepped in.

  “He moved on six months ago, pal, when he got rid of you. You missed your chance to have him warming your sheets at night. Now he’s warming mine, so your jealousy’s a bit fucking late coming.”

  Harley stared at Nathan, almost admiring him in that moment, seeing how Ryan’s mouth tightened and how pale he turned. If he’d thought Ryan would slink away now, though, he’d underestimated his need to get the last word.

  “Guess he didn’t tell you I was in his bed last night, then. Or how I made him scream. I promise you, now he’s had me, you’re going to struggle to…�
� Ryan paused for emphasis, smirking lecherously. “…fill the void.”

  Harley’s mouth dropped open in outrage, while Nathan approached the slur more actively. He punched Ryan in the face, sending the bigger man reeling back, but not knocking him down.

  Touching his bleeding lip in surprise, Ryan stalked forward, gripped Nathan by the throat and threw him into the railings, pressing him against them, bending him backward over the ocean as though he intended to throw him from the pier.

  “Let him go, asshole!” Harley cried, trying to drag Ryan away as Nathan gasped for breath under the bruising pressure of Ryan’s hands.

  People were watching, a couple of courageous men starting forward to break up the fight, but Ryan had already tossed Nathan aside almost disdainfully, so he sprawled onto the wooden planks. He turned to face Harley, breathing heavily, his face flushed and furious.

  “You can do so much better,” he said scornfully, his voice low.

  “Like you, you mean?” Harley cried, before he could stop himself. “Because you’re such a prize fucking catch?”

  His heart sank at his own cruelty even before he saw the hurt blossom on Ryan’s face. Ryan tried to hide it with that cool mask he presented to the world. He looked at Harley for one more moment with his features frozen into blankness and his eyes flashing, then he turned and stalked away.

  Nathan had meanwhile picked himself up and was rubbing at his throat, glancing around at the crowd which had gathered with interest over the ménage a trois.

  “I would have taken the big guy any day,” Harley heard a young woman mutter as the people dispersed. “He was hot as fuck.”

  He watched Ryan’s retreating figure crossing the road in the distance. With an apologetic look at Nathan, he darted after him.

  He dodged traffic and ran down the street, gaining on Ryan, who walked swiftly. What am I doing? Why am I chasing this asshole just asking for him to twist the knife one more time? He had no answers. His anger blinded him to everything else.