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Cam holds it up to me, and I nod. I’m as clueless about wine as I am about flowers, but it’s a Chardonnay, and I know I don’t hate that. Plus, when he reaches for the glasses in the cabinet, I get to see his body pull taut, a hint of the muscles I’ve felt but have yet to see. Even giving him that blow job this morning—my God, was it really only this morning?—I didn’t get to see much.
I’m still thinking about Cam’s muscles when he slides the glass of wine in front of me and sets a plate with bruschetta and a dish of olives between us on the center island. I take a sip of the wine and find that I actually like it. I take a piece of bruschetta and Cam spears an olive with a toothpick and puts it in his mouth. In my entire life, I’ve never thought olives would turn me on, but they turn out to be a highly underrated sensual food, especially when Cameron tries to discreetly remove the pit from his mouth, not to mention the erotic motions his lips make as he chews. I lick a bit of sauce from my lips and realize Cam might be thinking the same thoughts about the bruschetta.
Cam suggests we move over to the couch. He brings the food, and I carry our wine glasses, and we talk a bit about the court case, speculating why it ended so abruptly. We move on to other topics, Cam asking if I’ve gotten any further with my webcomic and me asking if everything worked out okay with the issue that had stressed him out the night before.
As we talk, we both relax and turn toward each other on the couch, moving close enough our knees are almost touching. I reach out and take hold of Cam’s hand. His skin is soft, fingers long and slim, which doesn’t explain why his touch warms me, why my heart beats harder every time our eyes meet, and why, despite the food and wine, I still have the taste of Cam in my mouth. That taste is more intoxicating than any alcohol, more addictive too because I’ve been craving it since we kissed at the bar in North Beach.
We lean toward each other at the same time. Cam takes the wine glass from my hand and places it on the coffee table, then closes the distance between us. How can it feel like it’s been ages since we kissed when I just got here? It doesn’t make sense to me, but I know it feels too long since I was touching him.
This time his fingers are in my hair, playing with my curls, and I fucking love that. I arch my neck, press my head back into his hands, which exposes my throat to him. He takes advantage immediately and begins to kiss and nip along the sensitive skin under my jaw, warm breath ghosting over the surface as he exhales.
I lie back, pull him on top of me, and revel in the sensation of his weight pressing me into the leather-covered cushions. Cam moans, still kissing my throat, fingers playing at my lips. I suck his fingers into my mouth, bite down lightly then tease at them with the tip of my tongue, and Cam’s hips begin to rock against me. It’s my turn to moan at the feel of his hard cock. Even between the layers of our clothes, I can feel him. I’ve had that cock in my mouth, felt it pulse and spill into my throat, tasted his cum on my tongue.
“Can we…can we maybe forget the food and move on to the bedroom?” I ask.
Cam exhales and closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against mine. It’s quickly becoming one of my favorite things because I know it’s a sign Cam’s going to let himself be vulnerable. “I’m trying to be a good host,” he says, and flexes his hips again, which makes me gasp.
“Your hosting skills will get a five-star rating from me if I get to see you naked before we eat.”
“The risotto will be overcooked,” he says.
“I won’t even notice. I promise.” I grin at him with what I hope is my most charming and persuasive expression. “I’ve never been good at delayed gratification.”
“Fuck, Ty,” Cam whispers.
“Yeah. That’s the general idea. I’m tired of feeling this sexy body through clothing.”
He makes a sound as if I’m torturing him and pushes himself off me, stands up and holds out his hand. In his bedroom, we stand at the foot of his bed and kiss again, our hands beginning to remove each other’s layers. First to go, my jacket and Cam’s sweater, then we unbutton each other’s shirts, pulling the tails from waistbands and letting the shirts hang open, our chests exposed. For as turned on as I am, and as aroused as I can tell Cam is, neither of us seems to be in a hurry, which I absolutely love.
I’m content to tease myself for a bit with the sight of Cam’s lightly furred chest. His muscles are defined but not overly so and a dusting of hair trails downward and disappears beneath the waistband of his pants. I reach out and run my fingers through the hair on his chest. He sucks in a breath when I graze lightly over an already pebbled nipple, so I flick at it with the edge of my thumbnail, then run the flat of my hand over his pec muscle and down his side.
Cam doesn’t move, just watches me, his breathing rapid and shallow like he’s trying not to disturb me, which I don’t want at all. I lean in, my hand now on the smooth expanse of his back, fingers tracing the groove of his spine, the lines of his muscles, and touch his nipple with the tip of my tongue. Cam’s breathing hitches, stutters, so I take it into my mouth, lightly roll it with my front teeth. When Cam moans, I do it again, then switch to the other side.
I love the contrast of textures on Cam’s body: the firmness of his back under his silky skin, the coarse hair on his chest that lightly grazes my nose, the slight rasp of stubble under his chin, and the wrinkled surface of his nipples that hints at what his hole might feel like against my fingers or tongue. Groaning at the thought, I trace my way up from his chest, tongue following fingers, teeth and nails raking over the sensitive skin.
I don’t press hard enough to leave marks, but from the way Cam shivers and whines, I think he’d like it, and I file that information away for later. Because I know, as I touch him and caress him and explore his body, this is only our beginning. I know it as clearly as I know my own history: this man is my future.
Pausing at the thought, I stare into Cam’s eyes. There was a moment earlier today when something seemed to pass between us, a promise offered and accepted in the stillness of our beings. I feel it again, more intense this time, as if our hearts are actually beating with the same rhythm. Pulling Cam close, our chests pressed together, skin to skin, the warmth of his body melting into the heat of my own, I feel it. His heart beats as if it’s my own.
When I kiss him, he opens to me immediately. We groan at the same time, toe out of our shoes, undo belts and buttons, slide zippers down, push the clothes that still cover our lower bodies to the ground, and kick them to the side. All gentleness is forgotten. Cam shoves my shirt off my shoulders, then curses as the cuffs catch my wrists because they’re still buttoned.
As soon as he realizes my hands are trapped, he pauses, catches my eye and raises his eyebrows. A question. I answer with a nod and stop trying to remove the shirt. I still, let Cam take in the sight of my body, now fully exposed to his gaze. Smiling, I lift my chin, square my shoulders, displaying myself for him as much as my tethered arms will allow. My cock, which has been hard since we kissed in the kitchen, bobs, and slaps against my stomach. I feel the damp spot it leaves behind, the way it cools then warms again from my skin. Cam licks his lips, gaze raking down the length of my body then back up again.
“Like what you see?” I ask Cam.
Instead of answering me, he closes the distance between us again. Our cocks touch, rub against each other, and we both sigh. It feels so fucking good. I shift, seeking to get even a little bit of friction so I can make us feel even better.
Cam pulls my shirt back up on my shoulders, unbuttons the cuffs, and then slides the sleeves off my arms. He lets the shirt fall to the floor. I stare at him, knowing my expression is as hungry as his.
“Do you like what you see?” he asks.
It’s an echo of my own question, but I see the slight doubt in his eyes, the fear that I will be less than happy with the reality that’s been shrouded by his clothing. Nothing could be further from the truth, and I tell him so.
We kiss again, deeply, our hands roaming each other’s bodies, exploring, testing, finding sensitive spots, ticklish places, and those magic locations that set our nerve endings on fire.
Somehow, we make it to the bed, our legs entwined, cocks aligned, a tangled mass of want and need and rapidly escalating desire. As if of one mind, we shift positions, still lying side by side but now head to cock. Cam takes me in his mouth while I swallow him down. He’s as delicious as I remember when a bead of precum pools in his slit, and I collect it on my tongue. I groan, and take him to the back of my throat again. My fingers tease his balls, stroke his taint, and he thrusts deeper into my throat when I rub his hole with a fingertip. Our sounds are grunts and groans, swallows and gulps, until I pull off, gasping, warning Cam to stop.
“Lube. Condoms,” I manage to say.
