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“For starters.” With a wicked grin, he gave himself a few more lazy strokes. “You are so pretty spread out, Charles. You’re a natural. I could stare at you open and begging for me all night. Maybe I will.”
“You’re a fucking tease,” I growled, even as I flushed crimson, digging my heels into the mattress, and squirming up at him. More wetness pulsed onto my belly.
Finally, fucking finally, he settled between my legs, a fall of hair hiding his face as he lined himself up. I pushed it back. “Want to see you.”
He was much thicker than two fingers, somehow more solid too. My tense thighs clamped reflexively around him, as did my panicky hole, and he paused, twisting to kiss the tender inside flesh of my knee. “Relax, Charles. Push against me. Let me in—you’re choking off the blood supply. My dick will drop off.”
I huffed a laugh. More lube dribbled into my crack and around my opening until we were practically swimming in the stuff. Scrunching my eyes closed, I gripped his arms tight enough to leave marks and bore down, focusing only on Florian’s coaxing, silvery voice. I yelped; for a fleeting second, the stretch and burn was fucking intolerable, and then something gave, something opened up around him, and he slipped inside.
“Oh, fuck,” I panted, full to bursting. “Oh, fuck.”
Florian waited, hushing me softly. I counted to ten, then twenty, and when I dared open my eyes, his bent elbows framed my head and his handsome face smiled down into mine. A butterfly kiss landed on my lips.
“Uno,” he whispered. I snorted against him.
“Idiot.”
Florian pressed another kiss to my lips then winced. “Mon dieu, topping you is going to be stressful. You are so fucking hot and tight.”
I’d remember that expression on his face as we both regrouped, for the rest of my life. A melange of care sprinkled with love, merging hazily into lust and desire. We kissed, sloppy and open-mouthed, sharing the heat of each other’s tongues. And then Florian hitched one of my legs up to his shoulder and began moving, tiny gliding shifts of his hips, his eyes watching my every response, his kisses fucking my mouth in an echo of his hips. His thick hair fell like a heavy curtain around us, his sounds—the sighs, the moans, his tender words—mingled with my own. The scent of it I’d remember too, of sex, of sweat, of Florian’s salty skin. The heaviness of my sweet lover’s shaft buried deep inside me, joining us as one.
He changed angle, minutely, and a silvery flame of pleasure lit me up from the inside out. Chasing it, I wrapped both my legs around him, gripping his lean hips and he sunk deeper still, seated against that hidden part of me, like a finger hovering over a switch.
“It feels good, non?”
At my frantic nod, the look on his face changed to one of simple wild abandon. As if I’d granted him permission to fuck me harder. And he did. Every deep thrust brought a fresh wave of pleasure, building a home in my balls and my belly, layer upon layer, until I was crammed full. At the edge of spilling over, he withdrew, breathless.
“Turn over, mon chéri.”
I found myself face down on my elbows with my arse in the air. In one swift, hard movement, Florian pressed into me. The force stole the breath from my lungs; I bit down on the pillow as with one hand digging into my hip, the other around my shaft, he systematically tore me apart. Every colour in the universe vanished from my head. All finesse vanished, replaced by determined thrusts and ragged coarse sounds; a creaking bed, a rattling headboard. Balls slapping against cheeks, low grunts in time with my own. And then a half sigh, half sob as liquid heat poured out of my lover and into me, over and over, spilling higher and higher, like an infusion of boiling love into my bloodstream.
I came a split second later as his sounds pushed me over the edge, hard and fast, soaking his fingers, my belly, and the sheet underneath. With a panted curse, Florian collapsed above me, sweaty and hot, chest heaving, and pressing me into the mattress.
“Putain, Charles. My Charles. I love you so much.”
Starfished underneath him, I sank deeper into the pillows. For a long while we lay like that catching our breath, falling back to earth. Behind my eyes, a still and silent stretch of blank canvas floated just out of reach. A quiet, strange calm spread over my body as licks of flame receded from my limbs, taking my bones with them. My heartbeat slowed and dulled.
Drifting in and out of consciousness, I became aware of Florian shifting off and pulling me into him, sweeping me into the circle of his arms, of his cool breath and tender kisses landing at my temples, the bridge of my nose, the cleft of my chin, on each thin eyelid.
“What colours do you see now, Charles?”
As his whispered words ghosted across my cheek, the bare blank canvas rippled, as if his breath blew life into it. Bit by bit, like a shy new dawn peeking over the horizon, a lush emerald-green, hung with hundreds and thousands of brilliant silvery stars unfurled. Until none of the white was left.
“I see us, my love. Only us. And we’re beautiful.”
CHAPTER 36
FLORIAN
I’d never woken in my childhood bedroom with a man in my arms before. I could become very used to it. And Charles had slept through. Aside from a brief interlude when we’d reached for each other half-asleep, at around 2 a.m., and gently frotted. Charles lay on top, his sighs and low-pitched moans dusting the cool night air like a thousand fragments of confetti. And then again, just before six, when my dick, without any instruction from my mind whatsoever, took it upon itself to settle into his crease, prompting my hand to refamiliarize itself with his heft, reaching yet another very satisfactory conclusion before falling asleep once more.
Safe to say, my shy otter friend took his morning ablutions alone.
“Papi is up.” Charles snuggled his arse cheeks back against me. My mind was willing; my knackered, soft dick had nothing left to give. Which was just as well, seeing as it was after ten. The sound of my grandfather arguing with the radio wafted up.
“He’ll be surprised to see me sauntering down the stairs.” Charles yawned and stretched; sleepy and well-used.
“Mmm,” I agreed. The nape of Charles’s neck smelled so fucking divine. Maybe I could persuade my dick to go for a fourth round after all. “Especially as this is only a two-bedroomed cottage.”
