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“Then you might be even crazier than me, Florian.”
CHAPTER 15
CHARLES
Florian grasped my hand in his as we walked through the dark streets back to my place, almost as if I might try to escape and run off. Detouring via his house to check his grandfather was safely tucked up for the night was my opportunity to tell him I would be fine going home by myself. But as I waited in the cosy kitchen while he secured the back door and dashed upstairs, I didn’t think I had the strength to fight my three a.m. demons alone. And, Christ, the things the man had done with his mouth. I reckoned he could fight them off with that blessed instrument alone.
He’d picked up a change of clothing and, back at my place, took a quick shower while I pottered about my kitchen, not sure what to do with myself. It had been years since I’d brought a person of any gender home, and I wasn’t sure if I recalled the sequence of dance steps. So instead of opening a bottle of wine and choosing something sophisticated to play on the stereo system, I did fuck all and leaned on the kitchen sink. Gazing into the matte blackness beyond the window, I let my mind feast on the image of Florian soaped up and naked a few feet above my head. And concluded, as if it wasn’t staring me in the face, I was much farther along the bisexual spectrum than I’d previously thought. It felt like a strange time of my life to find out; maybe the jolts to the head (although they never couched electroconvulsive therapy in quite such crude terms) following my mother’s death had rekindled it.
Two bare arms wound around my middle; a tender kiss landed in my hair. “You were miles away. Hopefully somewhere not too terrible.”
I turned in his arms. Florian hadn’t bothered dressing, which was thoughtful of him. One of my fluffy white towels hung from his hips and he treated me to a dimpled boyish grin as he caught my appreciative stare. “No,” I replied, raking him in. “Not too terrible at all, for a change.”
We eyed each other hungrily. “I don’t know about you, Charles,” he performed a very obvious fake yawn, “but I’m ready for bed.”
Christ, this man was like a dream I didn’t remember ever praying for but coming true anyhow. Despite peeking even further into my madness, Florian still wanted me. And, on top of that, he knew how inexperienced I was, whereas he clearly had bags of it from the incredible things he did with his mouth and tongue around my dick. A dick which knew what it wanted, despite being attached to a shambolic mess.
Florian dragged me by the wrist into my bedroom, stripping me down to my underwear before I had a chance to further question his sanity, given that for some crazy reason this gorgeous man had decided he wanted to spend his night with—oomph. I found myself flat on my back and straddled.
Still holding my wrists, Florian arranged them above my head. “Leave those there. I’m going to explore.”
He swirled a finger through my chest hair, rocking forwards so that his dick brushed against mine. Molten silver flooded my senses, leaving me gasping for air.
“I have a type, Charles,” he murmured. “Of the male variety, obviously.”
“What?” Thanks to a combination of drowning in silver and the rocking, I was struggling to locate the part of my brain housing my French language skills. “Older men with mental health issues? That’s… um… quite niche.”
He waved me off with a grin. “Paf, we all have a few mental health issues. Ups and downs. Forget about them for a while.”
Mine were a tad more than the average ups and downs, and if he truly wanted to spend the night with me then, in a few hours from now, there was every chance he’d discover the full extent of them for himself. But I let it pass, especially as his finger and thumb had homed in on one of my nipples and were pulling and pinching at the nub. Fuck, it felt unbelievable.
“Do that again.”
“What, this?” He scratched across the other nipple, then did them both at the same time. I arched into him with a groan.
“What type am I, then?” I managed.
“The type who is, oh so straight on the outside, with your expensive cashmere sweaters and your brown leather loafers. And your cute sensible reading glasses that you protect in a plastic case, and your sensible haircut that you have neatly trimmed every eight weeks.”
Green wafted happily above our heads and I let out a burst of laughter. “That is a very diplomatic way of describing someone as bland.”
Ignoring me, he carried on. “But I reckon if I loosen you up and get you to drop that uptight businessman act, then you’re also the type who will be insatiable once you get going, Charles.”
Oh Christ.
With a quick dimpled grin, he tugged on my nipples again. Scorching silver flames framed his handsome face. That purring voice, that rolling accent. The way my name slithered out of his mouth, the way his tongue caressed and lengthened the consonants. And the lascivious looks he shot me through his lashes—I needed to capture them on paper—would have made a paid escort blush. “Am I right or am I right?”
His groin rocked against mine again as nibbling teeth replaced cool fingers. His bare dick under that towel caressed mine through my underwear; I was so hard for him it was beginning to hurt. For a guy who had struggled to maintain an erection over the preceding few months, twice in one day was some going. “Erm… yes, maybe?” was the best I could come up with. Privately I thought insatiable was stretching it a little. My hibernating libido might take a little while to wake up. “I haven’t, what I mean is, I can’t… I… what I’m trying to say is what with being an… um… uptight businessman, that sex has been low down a list of my priorities over the last ten years and only with women and so… I… am probably… um… not particularly good at it.”
Florian’s lips and teeth were turning me inside out merely from affording more attention to my left nipple than it had enjoyed in the preceding thirty-nine years, while one of his hands tracked down to my groin, peeling away my boxers for the second time this evening.
“See?” he murmured, running a finger through the wetness pooling on my lower belly. “We’re halfway there already.”
He sucked my pre-cum off his finger before sliding that same wet finger into the corner of my mouth and running it across my bottom lip. Another pulse of pre-cum dripped onto my belly as I tasted myself. Dialling up the heat a notch, keeping me on a low simmer, he did it again. A guttural sound escaped my throat.
He let the towel fall with a flourish and rose to his knees, trailing the tips of his fingers up the inside of his thigh. His dick was long, the skin around it paler than the rest of his body. He was groomed too, a man used to showing himself off, knowing he was damn near perfection. He gave himself a languid stroke, from the thick root to the glistening swollen tip, and I decided I didn’t care where he wanted me to keep my bloody hands because I wanted them on him, specifically on that part of him.
I caught him in my fist, taking him by surprise. The expression in his eyes turned restless as my palm curved around satiny skin. He leaned back, letting me explore, letting me find a rhythm, letting my thumb dip into the sweet slipperiness of his slit. My own shaft had found the divide of his arse, and with my other hand at his hip, I pushed up along the crease.
