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“There are, but they’re for later.” I carded my fingers into his hair, leading his face to my groin. He slid his hands between me and the couch, cupping my ass, then buried his face into my crotch. His lips moved up and down my shaft. My hips rolled, my balls already tightening up.
He used his nose to push aside the lace just enough to get his lips around the purple head of my cock. I gasped and moaned and rocked forward to feed him more. His fingers massaged my buttocks as he slowly swallowed my cock to the root. His eyes were heavy and smoky as he gazed up at me. I shuddered at the sight. His fingers slid down the crack of my ass, parting my cheeks, and opened my hole to the air being moved by the fan.
“Oh fuck,” I panted when a fingertip found my hole. He sucked harder now, toying with the rim of my entrance as spittle dripped from his chin to his beard. My hips moved on their own accord now, thrusting forward and back, leaving the sofa to pump with more speed. I rocked back, eager for his fingers to breach me, but they never did. He rubbed at my hole, teasing me, applying pressure, then taking it away when I wanted it the most.
I cradled his face as I fucked it. He made sinful, wet slurping sounds that pushed me to the brink. Then he gave me a fingertip. A yelp ripped out of me as I pumped my load down his throat. My knees buckled, dropping my ass to the back of the couch again. Raw, gorgeous sounds of pure pleasure rose from the man on his knees. Glancing down as I pulsed, I saw spunk leaking onto his beard. A frothy mix of seed and spit soaked his facial hair. He was working his cock, I saw now, his fist flying. With a grunt around my prick, he shot his load, cum dotting my right foot as well as the throw rug of deep rose.
“Holy hell,” I huffed, releasing his face to grab the back of the couch before my rubbery knees let me down. He licked his lips. I moaned at the sight. Letting my back slide downward, I slithered to the floor to clean the strings of cum and spittle from his beard. Then I tongued my way into his mouth while he gave his cock a few final tugs. “More, give me that,” I growled, reaching for the hand his dick lay in. I pulled his messy fingers up and shared them with him, our tongues gliding over his fingers. His spend was salty, slightly bitter, and utterly delicious. I lapped up every bit of it, even taking time to get between his fingers. “Delicious.”
“As are you.” He used his wet fingers to hold my chin while he placed small kisses along my eyes, nose, and swollen lips. “Absolutely divine. Oh shit, my knee is protesting loudly. This is why I don’t go to church. All that kneeling.”
I pressed my lips to his mouth, then got to my feet to help tug him from the floor. “I’m sure you have more reasons than that for not going to church.”
He muttered something under his breath. “Several dozen actually. Let’s get cleaned up and have a snack and something cold to replenish our reserves.”
I hoped our reserves would be depleted fully by the time Tuesday came.
Chapter Eleven
Afteralong,hot,leisurely shower together, Gibson and I spent the rest of the afternoon and into early evening puttering. He weeded his garden while I lazed on the glider, dozing in the hazy heat of early July. Even with the protests from Oregano—or perhaps Basil—the hours spent doing nothing but being domestic oozed tranquility.
“I could use something to eat,” he said around seven or so, rising from his foam knee pad with a wince. “Ouch. Damn knee. It’s never been the same since I tore some ligaments trying to be Andre Agassi in college.”
I smiled up from my iPad. “Do you need a hand getting inside?”
His face puckered comically. “I’m not quite that infirm yet.” He was so sassy at times. I chuckled softly then blew him a kiss as he limped into the cabin, mumbling under his breath about whippersnappers and AARP.
The wind was sticky as it whirled around the pines, shuffling some brown pine needles over the patio as it kicked and swirled. My eyes popped open when someone sat down beside me on the glider.
“Shit,” I gasped, staring at my surroundings. “I must have drifted off.”
“That happens out here. Even with the surrounding cabins filled with people, this little patch always seems so secluded.” He passed me a charcuterie board, then pulled an off-beat round metal table from the side of the glider to the front. Someone had repainted the vintage piece. The dark wood of the meat and cheese board stood out against the bright pink mesh metal. He then fetched a couple of icy cold beers from the ground to his left, passing a Sam Adams Summer Ale my way.
I placed my iPad on the table, leaving the idea board I’d been working on when I’d fallen asleep open.
“May I?” he asked with a nod at the tablet.
“Sure.” I leaned up to peruse the offerings. My empty belly roared as I eyed some fresh crab meat, batter dipped shrimp poppers, carrots, tomatoes, pickled green beans, olives, artichoke hearts, a bowl of tartar sauce, capers, a ball of soft cheese, several varieties of crackers, and clouds of fresh parsley. “This looks amazing. What kind of cheese is this?”
I picked up a rye cracker.
“Boursin cheese. Garlic and herbs. I like it with seafood. Try some with the crab. That’s today’s catch.”
There was nothing that compared to Maine seafood. I would fight whoever disagreed. Living right by the sea was a delight for a lover of fish and shellfish like me. Of course, I’d been born and raised feasting on the sea’s bounty.
“Mm, it’s so smooth,” I said around a mouthful of cheese and cracker. I picked up a small fork to gather some crab meat to feed to Gibson. He smiled tenderly after I placed it on his tongue. I pecked his hairy cheek and then took a forkful for myself.
“I’m rather impressed with your inspiration board,” he said after he swallowed. His kaftan was riding up over his knees, allowing the breeze to blow around his manly parts. I found the knowledge that his dick and balls were swinging free was quite a distraction.
“Yeah, it’s a thing I like to do. I have to use Elle’s account because if the world found out that Connor Days made inspiration boards on Pinterest…well, I guess the world couldn’t think any less of me.”
“Fuck Connor Days,” he muttered with real ire. Something sweet and sassy from Jon Batiste flowed out the windows, the bouncy soft jazz ideal for the moment.
“You have been,” I teased, bringing a shrimp popper doused with tartar sauce to his lips.
“Mm, no, I’ve been making love to Elias Kesside.” A flush of something incredibly moving rose to my cheeks. This man was doing his best to win my heart.
“Have I mentioned how keen I think you are?”
