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“What?”
“Just…I can’t believe you went to the trouble to get this fancy room with a big bed only to have me up against the mirror.”
Does he really not know? I approach behind him, enraptured by him from head to toe and everything his presence here tonight represents.
“If you saw what I see, you’d understand.”
The humor leaves his face. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. As we stare into each other’s eyes, I think he finally understands.
Settling my hand on his hip, I watch his eyes hood again from that simple touch. Running my palm up his side, I trace two fingers down his spine with the other hand.
“Twenty-five years,” I whisper, inching closer until my cock nestles against the seam of his ass. “That’s how long you’ve waited for this, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And now that it’s about to happen, you’re still sure?”
“I’ve never been surer of anything.”
“You’re sure you want it to be me?”
“Yes.”
Leveling him with a look over his shoulder, I add, “Even if I can’t be the gentleman you think I am when I’m around you?”
“Especially then.” His answer is breathy, but certain.
“You could wait for some nice, younger guy. Another virgin. One who doesn’t know your family. Move across the country. Start a new life with someone like that,” I suggest, skirting my hand around the front of his hip to caress the silken skin at the V of his groin.
His head rattles back and forth when I place a kiss on his shoulder and cup his balls. The tender flesh feels like it's concealing two perfectly round stones.
“Why not?”
“I-I don’t want that.”
“How do you know?” I prod, weighing his inundated flesh in my hands and pressing a kiss to his neck. “If you haven’t even tried?”
“I just don’t. It wouldn’t…”
The blank he didn’t complete has me dangling off the edge of a cliff. Giving him a squeeze, I press tighter against him, my chest flush against his back.
“Finish your sentence, Cam.”
His eyes close, and he exhales as though he’s giving up some internal battle. “It wouldn’t be you.”
While I was enjoying the meal of his sentiments, I thought they were just a product of his desire. Until now.
Burying my face in his neck, I slide my hand up his arm to where his meets the glass. Slipping my fingers between his, he accepts them, making room. I have no idea how something between us will work, but send up a silent thanks for his answer. Maybe I have a chance.
“You’re fucking right it wouldn’t be,” I rasp against his pulse.
He takes my cue when I nudge my foot against the inside of his ankle, spreading his feet further apart. It lowers his ass, nestling my tip in his part.
Reaching between us, I take hold of myself and drag my cockhead over that pulsing opening that kissed my fingertip earlier. It does the same again, and I swear it’s timed to the pounding rhythm of my heart.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” I inform his reflection.
“Please,” he pleads. Why is the sound of him begging for me so damn beautiful?
