We go at it like rabbits until the water runs cold.
Even then, we can’t get enough.
With a twist of the tap we keep going, hoping like heck that no one can hear us.
This is the best day of my life.
I paint the wall more than once.
Porter’s cum is warm and slippery on my lower back when he pulls out.
That uncensored orgasm is by far the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
We hold each other for a moment, wet hair dripping down my neck.
Those scratches on my shoulder last for days.
But every time I see them in the mirror, I smile a little.
???
And this is how we spend our Mondays.
I live for it.
I count the hours in between.
“We're not done,” he promises one afternoon as we lay on the towel in his room.
“We should eat though. Let me make you something.”
“You know what I want in my mouth,” I sigh. “Quit making me beg.”
He’s more of a giver than a taker.
But I long to give.
“Eat first,” he says with a kiss.
Scrambling to find clothes, we head downstairs.
The kitchen is still empty, thankfully.
Those boys are deeply committed to footy.
The refrigerator glows, casting a dim light across the shadows.
I love to watch Porter cook.
There’s something so sexy about a man in an apron.
Not just the slicing and dicing, or the sizzle in the pan.
It’s the plating up that makes me pine the most.
The attention to detail.
This boy refuses to let any meal be presented without flourish.
