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“Greedy,” Simon laughed.
“You have no idea,” I said.
He paused, staring into my eyes. We’d been two strangers when this evening had started, but now we were on the verge of connecting in the most primal of ways, and I wanted it more than I could remember wanting anything.
“Simon,” I breathed.
“Becks,” he answered, his voice equally as soft as his finger breeched me. First one, then two. He stretched me, crooked his finger against my prostrate and nearly sent me through the roof. My ass clenched around his digits, and I prayed the sudden touch wouldn’t send me over the edge.
Simon was focused on me, his gaze intent. Only when he felt me retreat from the edge, did he withdraw his fingers. He placed his hands on either side of my head, lined his cock up with my hole, then bent to kiss me, his tongue delving deep as his cock nudged my rim. He was so hard, so hot as I bore down on him, wanting him inside me, willing my body to open to him, to accept the burn and then gift me with the intense pleasure I knew waited for me on the other side.
There was little resistance. My body was so ready for him, craved him so deeply, that as soon as he passed through the first ring of muscle, I was flooded with a wave of desire so intense I couldn’t help but lift my ass so he would slide all the way home. I sucked in a breath at the fullness, but I didn’t feel pain or discomfort. It was bliss. The ache in my core, the slow and steady beat of arousal that had begun with my first sip of wine, made me cry out.
“Becks?” Simon asked, stilling.
“More,” I answered, the only word I could form. “More.”
And he gave it to me. He thrust against me, his hips pressing forward and withdrawing as I moved against him. We found a rhythm within a few strokes, Simon holding himself up on his arms to find an angle that nailed my prostate on every thrust.
I cried out again and again, and then my voice froze as I felt the growing wave of my orgasm begin to crest. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, but Simon continued to fuck me, his speed pushing me higher and higher. His hair was a wild tangle, sweat formed on his forehead, and the veins on his arms stood out as he pumped into me, his delicious cock filling me over and over until I thought I couldn’t take it anymore.
And then I was coming. A glorious, blinding white light filled my vision as my body expanded beyond its physical confines. My cock convulsed, the heat of my cum searing me from the inside as it left my cock and branded my abs, my chest, even my chin. Flicking my tongue out, I caught a taste of myself, and cried out as I crested again, and another surge of liquid heat flowing out of me.
Simon stared at me, lost in a frenzy of movement that was glorious to watch and feel. Then he froze, back arched, chin pointed to the ceiling, his exposed throat contracting as he swallowed then roared as he came. I felt his climax fill the condom, felt the force of it, the heat of it, and, for the first time, mourned that nothing of him would remain when we were done.
I clung to him as his orgasm crested then receded. He lay on top of me, the two of us still joined, our breathing heavy, and nestled his head under my chin. Letting go of my legs, I ran my fingers through his hair. I swept the sweat-damp strands back from his face until he softened and needed to raise himself to hold the condom in place while he withdrew from my body.
When he left the bed to dispose of the condom, I felt empty and bereft, more alone than I had at any point this evening, and I chided myself for the tears that threatened.
Simon was back soon enough with a warm washcloth. He cleaned me up, then slid under the covers, holding them up for me to do the same. It surprised me. I’d been half-expecting him to be ready to leave. It was late, and I knew he had another evening to prepare for the next day. It was the holiday season, and his services were in great demand. I’d been lucky he’d made space for me this close to Christmas.
“Come on, Becks,” he said, opening his arms for me, and I gladly went, feeling content as his arms closed around me.
We lay in silence for some time. I traced slow circles on Simon’s arm, and he caressed my back, occasionally placing a soft kiss on my head.
“It’s a shame we didn’t finish the dinner,” I said as fatigue stole over my body. I was buzzing with energy, but slowly drifting into a state of post-orgasmic lethargy.
With a chuckle, Simon leaned down and placed a kiss on my lips. “Who says we didn’t? I think that was one of the best endings I’ve ever created.”
I laughed with him. “But we didn’t have dessert.”
“You want dessert, Becks?”
When I nodded, Simon threw back the covers. “I’ll be right back.”
He left the room, and I admired the sight of his naked ass and broad shoulders as he left the room. When he returned, I admired the sight of his muscled chest, furred thighs, and low-slung cock, but it was the plate in his hands that caught my attention. He’d brought two of the raspberry tarts with him.
I frowned at the sight of them, and Simon shrugged. He handed me the plate and settled back into the bed.
“Which one do you want?” he asked.
When I shook my head, he picked one up and handed it to me, then took the other one for himself. To my surprise, he held it out for me, like a groom holding a piece of wedding cake out to his spouse. It was romantic and silly, and I did the same to him. We both bit into the tarts at the same time, and I moaned at the burst of flavors on my tongue: the tang of the berries, the sweetness of the almond crust, and the warmth of the cashew cream.
“So good,” I said, and consumed the rest of the tart he still held out for me, licking his fingers for good measure.
“Becks?” Simon said, and I looked up to see him holding out the ring I’d intended to place on Richard’s finger.
I took it from him and turned it over in my fingers. It seemed strange to me that less than twelve hours before this moment, this object was the most important thing in my life. My future hung in the balance of its acceptance or rejection.
