STORY 8: PAINTING THE CEO'S SIN: FORBIDDEN TOUCHES

IMPORTANT WARNING: This is an MM (Male/Male) Gay Erotica story with extremely explicit and graphic sexual content. If you prefer MF stories and are uncomfortable with gay romance, please skip this book and move to Story 9 in my collection. 18+ ONLY.

Liam’s hand still stung from the slap he’d delivered two days ago. The memory burned hotter than the summer night air clinging to his skin. That arrogant bastard at the gallery opening, tall, dark-haired, with a jaw like carved marble and eyes that screamed 'I own everything I touch' had grabbed him by the waist and kissed him like he had every right. No warning. Just lips crashing down, demanding, tasting of expensive whiskey and pure dominance.

Liam had shoved him back and slapped him hard across that perfect face. "I’m not gay, asshole!"

He’d stormed out, heart hammering, cock traitorously half-hard in his jeans. He told himself it was adrenaline. Shock. He was straight. Always had been. Girls. Soft curves. Simple.

But the memory of that firm mouth wouldn’t leave him alone.

Tonight, he stood outside a sleek penthouse building in the heart of the city, portfolio tucked under his arm, brushes rattling in his bag. The client, some rich prick who wanted a live portrait session, had sent the address through a cryptic email. High-paying gig. Liam needed the money badly after his last commission fell through. Rent was due. Pride was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

He punched in the code the client provided. The elevator glided up like a predator stalking prey. When the doors opened, Liam stepped into a sprawling, minimalist paradise, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city, black marble floors, and the faint scent of sandalwood and power.

"Mr. Hargrove?" Liam called out, voice echoing. "I’m here for the portrait session. The door was open per your instructions."

No answer.

He wandered deeper, past a massive living room with a single leather couch that probably cost more than his entire apartment. A half-empty glass of amber liquid sat on the kitchen island. Then he heard it, the sound of running water. The shower.

Of course. Rich people and their dramatic timing.

Liam approached the open doorway to the master bathroom, steam billowing out like an invitation to hell. The glass shower enclosure was fogged, but not enough. Through the haze, he saw the silhouette of a tall, powerfully built man. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Long, muscular legs. Water cascaded over skin that gleamed like wet bronze.

Liam froze. The man turned slightly, and the profile hit him like a second slap. Him. Nick fucking Caldwell. The same arrogant CEO who’d kissed him at the gallery. The one whose cheek still carried the faint shadow of Liam’s palm in his memory.

Nick’s head tilted back under the spray, eyes closed, water sluicing down his chest, tracing every ridge of muscle, down the deep V of his hips, straight to the thick, heavy cock hanging between his thighs. Even soft, it was intimidating. Liam’s mouth went dry. His pulse roared in his ears.

"What the fuck…" Liam whispered.

Nick’s eyes snapped open. A slow, predatory smirk curved his lips as recognition dawned. "Well, well. The little artist with the vicious hand. Came back for more?"

Liam’s face burned. "This is a mistake. Wrong address. I’ll leave..."

"Stay." Nick’s voice was velvet over steel. He didn’t turn off the water. Didn’t cover himself. He stood there, naked, water streaming over him, every inch on arrogant display. "You’re here for a job, aren’t you? Painting me."

Liam’s gaze betrayed him, flicking down again. Nick’s cock twitched under the attention, beginning to thicken. Heat pooled low in Liam’s belly. No. Not happening.

"I don’t do nudes," Liam lied, throat tight.

Nick laughed, low and dangerous. He stepped out of the shower, not bothering with a towel. Water dripped onto the marble as he closed the distance. Up close, he was overwhelming, six-foot-four of pure, commanding male, muscles honed by ruthless discipline, a faint red mark still visible on his cheek from the slap.

"You slapped me," Nick said softly, crowding Liam against the bathroom counter. "In front of half the city’s elite. Do you know how many men would pay to be kissed by me? And you hit me."

"I’m straight," Liam hissed, but his back arched instinctively as Nick’s wet body heat enveloped him.

Nick’s hand shot out, gripping Liam’s chin, tilting his face up. "Liar. I felt how you kissed me back for half a second before the slap. Your body doesn’t lie, even if your mouth does." His thumb brushed Liam’s lower lip. "I’m going to punish you for that slap, pretty boy. And you’re going to thank me for it."

Liam’s cock strained against his jeans. Traitor.

Nick released him and walked back toward the shower, giving Liam a full view of his tight, sculpted ass. "I’ll pay you fifty thousand dollars. Cash. Tonight. All you have to do is paint me. Naked. Right here. While I shower."

Liam’s knees nearly buckled. Fifty thousand? That was life-changing money. Rent for a year. Supplies. Freedom from scraping by. But the price…

"You’re insane," he breathed.

Nick turned the shower back on hotter, steam rising thicker. "Take it or leave it. But if you stay, you don’t just draw. You obey. Every command. And by the end of this night, you’ll be on your knees tasting what you’ve been pretending not to want."

The tension in the air was electric, suffocating. Liam’s mind screamed to run. His body, his traitor cock, his racing heart, begged to stay.

He set his portfolio down with shaking hands. "Just… drawing. Nothing else."

Nick’s smirk was pure sin. "We’ll see."