His Possession

Chapter Twenty Two

Noah's pov:
I was addicted.

I'd avoided most addictive substances most of my life even sugar to an extent, but I found the one thing I couldn't resist.

Strength, resilience, and light, wrapped up in five feet nine inches of creamy skin and cool composure that his a heart of fire underneath.

But fuck, if he was an addiction, I never want to be cured.

"Are you going to paint me like one of your French boys?" Michael teased, stretching his arms above his head.

My cock jumped with interest at the sight of him draped over the sofa, naked, let's be honest, there were very few things Michael did that didn't interest my cock.

He had a rare day off after his morning meetings, and we'd spent the entire afternoon in a hotel room on the outskirts of Italy. If anyone asked, Michael was out with Maisie, but in reality, all we'd done was fuck, eat and fuck some more. It was the closest we'd ever gotten, and that we could get, to a real date.

"Careful with teasing me, prince, unless you want a wart on your portrait." I threatened

He grinned, and the sight hit me like a punch in the gut

I would never tire of his smiles. His real smiles, not the ones he showed in public. I'd seen Michael naked, in fancy clothes and in lingere, but he was never more beautiful than he was himself, stripped of all the pretenses his title forced him to wear.

"You wouldn't." He rolled over and propped his chin on his hands, which rested on the arms of the sofa.

"You're way too much of a perfectionist about your art."

"We'll see about that." But he was right. I was a perfectionist about my art, and the piece i was working on might be my favorite so far aside from the one of him in Spain, which had finally broken my artist's block.

"Hmm, let's see. I'll add a third nipple here.. A hairy wart there."

"Stopp!" Michael laughed.

"If you're going to give me warts, at least put it somewhere inconspicuous."
"All right. Belly button it is."

This time, I was the one that laughed when he tossed a pillow at me.
"Years of grumpiness, and you suddenly have jokes."

"I've always had jokes, I've just never said them." I shaded in his hair.

We fell into a comfortable silence, me sketching, Michael watching me with a soft, slumberous expression.

"Do you ever show your art to anyone?" He asked after a while.

Sunset crept closer, and the golden late afternoon light bathed him in an otherworldly glow.

"I show it to you."

"Besides me."

"Nope."

Michael lifted his head, his lips parting in surprise.

"So, I'm.."

"The first person I showed? Yeah."

"Noah."

"Yes?" I crawled, picking up on the sensual note in his voice

"Come here."

"You ordering me around?"

Michael flashed another grin.

"Maybe. I'm in trouble and I need your help."

I set down my pencil with a sigh.

"You're not in trouble. You are trouble."
I strode over to the sofa, and he squealed when I picked him up and set him on my lap. My cock nestled against his ass, with only the material of my briefs separating us.

"I'm here. Now what?"

"Now.." He pushed himself up on his knees so he could pull down my briefs.

"You help me out. I'm a little tense."

I hissed out a breath when he sank onto my cock.

"You're insatiable." For someone so regal in public, Michael was a firecracker in the bedroom. Or the living room, or shower, or kitchen counter.

His grin widened.

"You love it."

My chuckle morphed into a groan as he settled into an exquisite rhythm.
"Yeah, prince. I do." I watched him, taking almost as much pleasure in the flushed arousal on his face as I did in the sensation of his ass gripping me.

Half an hour later, after we were both breathless and sated, I curled an around him as we lay on the sofa. That was my favorite type of moment with Michael, the peaceful ones where we could just be together. We got so few of those.

"How did you get this?" He brushed over the scar on my eyebrow.

"You never told me about this one."
"Hit it on a table." I stroked Michael's arm absentmindedly.

"My mum flew into one of her rages and backhanded me. I fell. I was lucky I didn't hit my eye, or you'd be fucking a pirate impersonator."

Michael didn't smile at my failed attempt at a joke. Instead, he brushed his fingers over the scar again before pressing his lips to in a soft kiss.

I closed my eyes, my chest heavy and tight.

I'd talked about my mother with Michael than I had with anyone else, including my old therapist. It wasn't so hard anymore, but Michael had a way of making even the hardest things for me easy.

Relax. Talk. Laugh. Simple things that made me feel human again.

"Do you ever think about finding your father?" He asked

"For closure?"

"Thought about it? Yeah. Acted on it? No."

"I have no interest in meeting him. If I did, I'd probably get arrested for murder."

The end. For now.