Page 12 of Sweet Thing

Sim knew that if they were at his apartment, he could keep a little control over the situation and kick the man out when he’d had his way. He had no alcohol or drugs in the flat, no temptations apart from the pleasure he was offering. Bastian would be lucky if he even got a cup of tea.

“So, Simeon Duchamp, tell me of you,” Bastian instructed in the stern way only German can muster. The rain had ceased, but the streetlights glistened off the wet pavement. They walked arm in arm down the empty avenue.

“I’m a runway model, but I just do it for fun. I don’t need the money. We both have rich daddies, no? Thankfully, my wonderful Papa is still around.”

“My father died in a crash eighteen months ago,” Bastian admitted suddenly.

Simeon was taken aback at such a heavy, personal detail being thrown at him during their easy flirtation. “How awful. Sorry for your loss.”

“We never got on, to be honest; I was terrified of the man. He was a racist and homophobe. My attraction to men did not have fit in with him wanting an heir for his imaginary dynasty. I hope the old bastard is rotting in hell!”

“Oh, okay,” Simeon was surprised by the venom in the comments. “So what do you do? Apart from picking up hot male models at galleries?”

Bastian laughed heartily. “I have my own wealth, lots of property in PrezlaurBerg. Mostly, I buy, renovate, and restore historic buildings. I like to shop, go on vacation… You know what it's like, I’m sure.” Simeon grinned and nodded.

“How old are you Simeon? Are you seeing anyone?” Bastian asked, almost nervously.

“Twenty-five. I’m not exclusive with anyone, a few fuck buddies, you?”

“Single, thirty-four.” The answer was short and direct.

“Did you buy a painting?”

“I bought the whole collection” Bastian informed him, matter of factly. “Well, apart from the one that got away.”

Simeon smiled privately, pleased that he had thwarted the man by purchasing the one painting that Bastian so desperately wanted. Simeon saw his building ahead and decided he should run on and give the spare bedroom a once-over before he hosted.

“That’s my place, number six, Apartment four. Give me five minutes and come on up,” Simeon instructed, and then ran on.

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