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I yank my hand away so I don’t snap his neck when my orgasm hits, which it does like a bolt of lightning right beneath my balls. “Oh shit, God…” My back twists as the release rips up my middle. My cock drowns itself in its own cum. Everything is wet and hot, and I feel like I’m glowing with awareness and passion. I feel alive.
“Drew?” His voice is breathy. Panicky. His cock is rigid, and his forehead is drawn in something like agony. I’m about to pull out, terrified I’ve broken him, and then he says, “I need to come. Help me come.”
He’s wrapping his hand around his dick already, which means he needs me on his neck. I make a game-time decision to stay inside him because trust me, it’s a whole different kind of orgasm when your ass is stuffed. He asked for it? He’s gonna get it. We’ve come this far.
I control his breath with slow, building pressure as he works his hand up and down his precum and sweat-slicked cock. With subtle tilts of my hips, I remind him I’m still with him. Still inside him.
“Show me what a good boy you are, baby. Show me how hard you come with my cock in your ass and my hand on your throat.”
His mouth opens on a choked gasp, and he throws his head back on the mattress. He taps my arm twice, and I let him go. His abs contract as thick spurts of cum stripe his chest and spill over his beating hand. I smear the palm of my hand through it, rubbing up his chest and then stuffing two fingers into his mouth. He sucks them clean before breaking away to gasp. He lets go of his dick and I…
Can’t stop myself.
Sliding out of him, I flatten myself on the bed and suck his spasming cock into my mouth. He whimpers, half sobbing, as I suck and lick him until not a single drop of his cum remains.
And then, finally, I roll onto my back, my head landing on his thigh, and we take a minute to breathe. I feel his hand in my hair after a few seconds, and I reach down and take hold of his foot, pressing firmly into his instep.
He moans. “That made more sense,” he says softly.
“I don’t think we’re doing it wrong. I think we’re just figuring it out,” I add.
“Yeah. Totally.”
A knock on the door is the most grating thing I’ve ever heard. Olivier’s phone rings from his fancy pants on the floor. “Twenty minutes,” he murmurs.
“You shoulda asked for thirty.”
“I asked for forty.”
“Then you’re shit at bartering.”
He snorts. “I’m sorry.”
“Seriously, though. Can we leave? You’re miserable here.”
“Let me check with El. Hopefully we can all slip out together.”
Olivier gets off the bed and walks to the door, opening it a crack to tell Elodie we’re getting dressed. We take turns with the tan cover sheet to wipe ourselves off. It’s not a perfect clean-up job, which I regret because I love my suit so much, but Olivier mumbles something about “thank God for dry cleaners,” and I stop sweating it.
Before he opens the door again, though, I pull him away from it. We fall effortlessly into another kiss. “I think I need to talk to you,” I say.
“Is it bad? You haven’t changed your mind about staying, have you?”
“It’s not bad. I’m just telling you when we get home, I want to talk to you before you start looking at me like you want to be eaten alive again. Deal?”
“You’re freaking me out.”
I kiss him again. “I’m not going anywhere. Now come on, stop fucking around. Your fiancée’s waiting for us.”
“Jesus. I hate you.”
“Right.”
Downstairs, the party is still in full swing. Assuming there’s more than one exit in a place this size, I start looking for the most discreet way out. I’m a few steps behind Elodie and Olivier who are arm in arm. I find myself repeatedly smoothing down the front of my suit and running a hand through my hair, certain I look exactly like a guy who just had sex with the intended groom. Elodie’s lucky I like her, because if I didn’t, I’d be telling her right now to get her hands off my man.
And if that’s not a complete mindfuck, I don’t know what is.
She leans toward Olivier to whisper in his ear, and his pace slows, spine stiffening, which immediately puts me on alert. I fall back a pace. Two older men approach, and they’re easy to discern, each holding certain resemblances to their children. The taller, sleeker one with salt and pepper hair takes Olivier’s chin in his grip and turns his head to the side, revealing the mark I left under his ear.
