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“You wish!” says the guy who cancelled the remainder of his hotel reservation as soon as I told him to stay as long as he wanted. He acts as if he isn’t palming my balls, which are far from blue, considering our activity since he appeared on my doorstep. Who am I to deny him, though?
“Anyyyway”—I start dramatically—“you’d get to see the house where I grew up.” Guilt washes over me when I realize the implication of what I just said. As if my house in Loomis never existed. As if my parents never existed. As if my life began the second Silas Sanchez appeared. I shake away the memories.
“You okay?” Nino’s previously naughty touch turns comforting, and he squeezes my knee to wrench me from my sudden melancholy. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” It’s amazing how attuned he is to my moods.
“Yeah, well, sorry… Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. We all have ghosts and skeletons in our closets, don’t we?”
He nods, stifling a bitter laugh.
Is now the right time to share something deeper than our usual mindless conversations?
Granted, the second round of Twenty Questions, which acted as an intermission for last night’s sex marathon, accomplished that. I learned that his parents are divorced and he’s an only child like me; I also confessed that, despite going through the adoption process, I still don’t consider my three cousins to be my siblings, nor do I adhere to the patriarchal dynamics that Aunt Marta seems to cherish.
I school my tone to remain light. “But I came out of my own closet like a breeze…” I open my arms and shake my little tush. “Fabulously gay!” I totally did, although I toned down my initial over-the-top flaming persona once I embraced my true self and started surfing daily.
Why am I recounting how supportive my parents were regarding my sexual orientation? How my life shifted when I lost them. How surfing saved my life before it almost killed me in Bali. Surfing the waves, that is, not the edge of a climax.
So much for a light conversation…
My leg is falling asleep from being pressed on the mattress, but I know better. Having perfected my skills as a trained bottom in a D/s relationship, I don’t dare move. It’s my own way of taking control and not breaking the moment. His voice falters when he tells me about his own ghost: his famous absent homophobic father. His thumb grazes my skin in a tender way that contrasts with our previous activities. His shoulders sag until he sits straighter, relief written all over his face.
Rubbing his palm over his gorgeous face, he exhales. “That’s enough for now… Later, I’ll tell you the meaning behind my butterfly.”
“‘Kay. I dig it, not only because it’s on your well-defined Adonis belt.”
He winks. “Thank you,” he concludes. “We should go to Martinique and visit my mom in Le Lamentin sometime. Maybe go to the Carnaval in Fort-de-France or see ayolerace during the summer…” He trails off, with a wide smile on his face. My eyes close in approval. We’ve spent the past couple of days exploring very intimate things, but this is a whole new level.
Next summer… Nino envisions a future with me.
It warms my heart. When my eyes pop open, I keep my tone playful. “Who said I was getting ahead of myself with meeting family?” I wink, in case he missed my teasing.
“Touché.” He sighs. “J’suis bien avec toi.” He kisses my bicep. “I feel good with you.”
“Likewise. Insta-love, huh?” My brow spikes, but my eyes don’t waver. His are visibly amused by my choking when he relentlessly resumes tormenting my balls. It betrays the extent of my surprise. “And you said your friend, Garcia, was the romance addict!”
Rocking my pelvis, I growl as he continues massaging my ball sack. He pinches and twists the tender skin. Pain shoots through me, and my heart hammers. I hiss, although my expectant dick hardens. Heat unfurls from my neck down to my toes in a matter of seconds. “For the record, there’s nothing insta about this.” He points at us alternatively. “Mmm… Maybe I’m wrong. Our connection was.” I nod, glad that he didn’t comment on the love part. Glad that he acknowledges our immediate bond. Glad that he can admit when he’s wrong. “Kismet…” he mutters under his breath. “Where were we?” he asks. He tears on my towel, which hits the floor before I take my next breath. When his fingers pause, I gasp, mourning the loss. If he’d carried on, I would’ve shot my load on his stomach and we’d have ended up needing another dirty shower.
He laughs, swallows, then strokes his semi over his underwear. “Such a greedy submissive…” The slap on my bare butt that follows his statement startles me. His Adam’s apple travels up and down, and he licks his lips. “Merde… Qu’est-ce que tu m’ fais?”
“What?”
“Rien, oublie.”
I take a step back and bend over to snatch the towel from the floor, folding it and avoiding his gaze. “Seriously?” With my back to him, I open my top dresser drawer, pull out a pair of boxer briefs, and tug them on. Turning around, I whine, frustrated and bold. “You can’t speak French and not tell me.”
The corner of Nino’s lip quirks up. “Say, ‘I apologize, sir.”
“What? Why?”
“Are you questioning my order?” His serious tone startles me. I tense, shake my head, and comply sheepishly. To my relief, his next words are much softer. “What I said earlier is that I was wondering what you were doing to me. My craving for you is unbelievable. Now… I need you naked.” His raunchy once-over boosts my ego. “Strip.” He follows suit. Next, he beckons me closer with a curl of his index finger and directs me to kneel, facing him from a distance so that he can watch me. “Show me how you pleasure yourself.” His breath hitches. “Look at me, Ashton.” My arousal rises when I hear my name on his lips that he wets innocently. “See, here’s how I like it. Take notes.” Playing with his balls with one hand, he fists his cock with the other and thrusts, circling the slit with his thumb. In between grunts and heavy breathing, he brazenly comments on each maneuver. His dirty words and actions, combined with my own, make my lust skyrocket. Heart racing. Body burning. Mind fantasizing.
Yeah, I can’t help fantasizing, but I don’t act on it.
Touching him and having him touch me isn’t an option here. Instead, my right hand leaves my front, and I angle my body so that he won’t miss a thing as I tease my entrance before inserting one digit, then another. Tension gathers and my thighs ache. Noticing how close I am, he commands, “Don’t come until I say.”
I suck in a breath and slow my pace.
His body trembles, and his eyes don’t leave mine when he salaciously licks his full lips with the tip of his tongue and praises me.
