Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“I loved every minute of that.” I smiled at him and added, “You know what just occurred to me? That’s actually a big difference between being with a guy instead of a girl. Can you imagine me trying to fake an orgasm?”
“It would be impossible.”
“Not quite, but it would involve some fine acting and a stop ahead of time at a fast food drive-through.”
“For what?”
“For my prop. After a lot of moaning and writhing around, I’d need a vanilla milkshake to splash onto my stomach.”
That made him laugh. I’d never seen him do that before, and I felt like I’d accomplished something important. “I’d almost like to see that,” he said. “It sounds very theatrical.”
“But not sexy. It’d be like mime porn.” I thought about that and said, “Wait, no—not a mime, since I’d have to make a bunch of noise to distract you from the fake orgasm. What am I thinking of? Like, those old timey, super exaggerated comedy routines.”
“I have no idea.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
We stayed that way for a few minutes, curled up together and talking about whatever came to mind. Finally, I got to my feet and zipped my jeans as I asked, “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Down the hall, first door on your left.”
“Be right back.”
After using the facilities, I dampened part of the hand towel hanging beside the sink and gave myself a quick sponge bath of sorts. Once I dried myself with the other end, that left me with the question of what the hell to do with the towel. The half-bath was pretty empty, and there was no obvious place to ditch a cum cloth. For lack of any better ideas, I ended up rolling it like a burrito and leaving it tucked behind the faucets on the sink. So awkward.
Next, I buttoned my shirt and paused to check my hair in the mirror. It looked like I’d spent some time in a wind tunnel, so I tried arranging my curls a bit. That definitely made it worse. In fact, I was right on the verge of turning it into a massive pompadour, like some sort of rockabilly band front man. I made myself leave it alone and went to join Aleksei.
In the five minutes I was gone, he’d managed to clean himself up, put on a black T-shirt, and hide the soiled white one. We sipped our drinks for a while and chatted about random subjects, until he asked, “Would you like to move this to the bedroom?”
“Lead the way.”
I scooped up my messenger bag and followed him to the second floor. Three rooms were completely empty, and all the main bedroom contained was a king-size bed done up in dark blue linens, a single chair, and a nightstand. This house was kind of depressing, so no wonder he was always at work.
After he took a seat on the edge of his neatly made bed, I set aside my bag and rested my hands on his shoulders as I stood in front of him. He held my gaze as he unbuttoned my shirt and slid his hands beneath the fabric, encircling my waist.
Then he drew me closer and rested his cheek against my chest. As I stroked his hair, he murmured, “How can anything feel this good? It doesn’t seem possible.” That made my heart ache, because this was such a small thing, but it meant so much to him.
When he climbed onto the bed, I pushed my sneakers off and joined him. Over the next hour or so, we got undressed in increments while we kissed and cuddled. He seemed to get as much out of this as what we’d done downstairs, and it occurred to me that he was probably touch starved. How long had it been since he’d gotten so much as a hug, let alone getting to be skin-to-skin with another person?
Sometime later, when soft and tender gave way to hot and heavy, I asked, “Do you want to fuck me, Aleksei? I have lube in my bag.”
“Not now, but if you’re comfortable with giving me a blow job—”
I grinned at him and said, “I thought you’d never ask.”
This was a skill I’d honed very enthusiastically over the years, and I pulled out all the stops. It was incredibly gratifying to watch the way he responded to what I was doing, and I loved the way he cried out when he shot down my throat.
Afterwards, he murmured, “Fucking hell,” as he drew me into his arms. Then he whispered, “Thank you. That was extraordinary.”
He was fighting to keep his eyes open, so I said, “Go ahead and sleep if you want to.”
“Will you still be here when I wake up?”
“Do you want me to be?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll be right here.”
We shifted a bit, so he could pull the rumpled duvet over both of us. Then he snuggled closer and fell asleep moments later.