33. Drew

He's already falling apart, and all I've done is kiss him. Naked kissing. But still.

"Are you okay?" I whisper even though there's no chance of us being overheard. When Elodie closed the door, all I could hear was the whir of her computer fans and the aquarium bubbling. The party basically disappeared.

He sounds like a horny record on repeat. "I want you. I want you."

"I know," I kiss him again. "I want you, too, but are you okay?"

"Barely. Please…I want you inside me so fucking bad."

I caress his face, finding it more beautiful tonight than ever, and maybe it's the creepy black and blue lighting, or the flush in his cheeks, or the way he's looking at me, but I'm so, so into it. So drawn to it. "It's gonna hurt, baby."

"I want it to hurt," he says, his gaze burning into mine.

"But I want it to feel good for you."

I kiss the space between his eyes, and when his eyelids drop, I kiss those, too.

"It will." He's begging now, legs tightening, hips pressing into mine. "It'll hurt good."

He's not wrong about that. "You're really fucking with me tonight," I say against him, mouth melting into one kiss after another, broken only by murmured words.

"I've been waiting for you," Olivier sighs.

I suck his bottom lip gently between mine. "My hair wasn't cooperating."

"You look so fucking hot."

"Jesus, Olivier…"

"Hurry, we don't have time."

Dizzy, I drag my mouth away from his and feel around for the lube. Like my first time, it's probably better not to overthink this. I don't see how he could possibly convey to me that he wants this any more than he already has, and dicking around about it is just wasting time. Time I could be inside him.

I've gotten used to bottoming, there's something about it that suits a certain part of my personality, but the asshole in me has wanted to top him from day one, if I'm being honest.

I'm unbelievably hard, and as I sit back to lube myself up, I tremble with how turned on I am by my own touch. With him lying there watching me, my arousal climbs to the next level.

His nails scrape my thighs while we stare at each other. It's one moment I don't mind dragging out a little. He's splitting his time equally between watching my hand on my cock and staring up at my face, but I can't stop looking at his eyes. The need in them. The raw need for me. I'm dizzy because I'm high off him. Also, because my cock is throbbing with close to every ounce of blood in my body.

"Fuck me," he mouths. "Fuck me…"

"Come here," I murmur, hands on his biceps and pulling him up. He follows my lead, wrapping his arms around my head and straddling my lap.

Reaching around him, I slide one finger in, and he makes an annoyed sound. "We don't have time for this…"

On that note, I slide a second in to stretch his hole wider. He grunts, but his head still shakes. "I don't need that. I need you. Just you."

"I don't want to hurt you," I tell him again.

"I'll survive. Fuck me, Drew. Stop messing around and just fuck me."

I take his point about not having time, but I note my objection once again for the record. This could theoretically wait until we get back to his place, but when he looks me in the eyes, I get the message.

He doesn't give a shit if it hurts. He might even want it to. He needs it.

It makes me wonder what this party is taking out of him, and whether having me can be a viable replacement for what he feels like he's lost.

Sliding my fingers out, I take hold of my cock and notch the head at the tight pucker in his ass. And then I kiss him, with one hand on his neck and one on his hip. And just like he does when he sucks my dick—he goes all in without my having to move a muscle. His ass takes me whole in one deep swallow, and we both fucking lose it.

His loud, broken cry bounces off the walls, and my sudden "Oh fuck!" nearly drowns him out.

His hands grip the sides of my head, and his mouth moves in fast and hard on mine, like he can process the overwhelm by overwhelming me. I'm trembling with the repressed urge to start fucking into him, but I wait for him to adjust.

The kiss is wild, feral, as filthy as sin itself. He bounces on my lap, maybe an inch—if that—and you'd think he just handed me a permission slip. I roll my hips upward, thrusting deeper, and after three of those, he's breathless, nails digging into my shoulder blades like he can transfer the pain to me.

Needing more control, I get him on his back, his knees up by his ears, devouring his neck and fucking him like I'm interviewing for the most important job of my life. I'm all focus and being so painstakingly careful not to hurt him, I'm dripping sweat. He sips it from my cheeks like it's wine.

Everything—and I mean every fucking thing shifts for me behind these black gauzy curtains.

What was once want becomes caring. What I used to know for certain was craving becomes a desire so deep, it vibrates my bones. What I used to hate, I'm falling for, one curl, one smirk, one jab, one unreasonable request at a time. I fucking called him baby.

And I wasn't even being ironic.

Rhythmically, I squeeze his neck as I work my cock into him with the smoothest glides I can manage. His eyes roll back, and then shut as he whispers, "More."

I roughen up my thrusts. I put more pressure on his throat. I make sure my abs roll against his dick every time I move inside him. For a minute I think I might be so worried about hitting all his pleasure points that I won't be able to come, and then he makes this dead sexy sound, and the switch flips.

My balls thrum and my spine tingles, my groin clenches, and I'm instantly on the edge. "I'm coming," I pant, clutching his throat. "I'm fucking coming."

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.

Elodie giggles, turning her head to press her face into Olivier's arm.

The other man, who is more rotund with world-weary eyes, a waxed mustache, and a white pocket square sighs and says, "I apologize for my daughter."

"Are we sure your daughter was the one who did this?" The elder Mr. Arnaud asks.

Elodie gasps. "Of course it was me!"

Lafayette sighs heavily. "Of course it was."

Arnaud looks doubtful. "You look ridiculous," he says to Olivier, and I bristle. But what's worse is Olivier's soft response I can't hear, but am able, from where I'm standing, to read on his lips. "I'm sorry, Dad. I just got carried away. Too much champagne."

"As usual." Mr. Arnaud's nostrils flare as he seems to come to a decision. "Your presence is no longer required. Leave before anyone sees the state of you. We'll be in touch with next steps."

Olivier looks truly devastated, but he tries to hide it with a clenched jaw. "Can I say 'bye to Mom?" His voice is unsteady like he's repressing some strong emotion.

Rage is what I'm personally feeling, but I don't know these people, nor is his family situation something he and I have talked much about. All I know is he's been unhappy with his parents ever since they forced him into an arranged marriage, understandably. But he's playing his part.

What argument could they have with him now?

"Your mother's busy. See your way out."

Olivier and Elodie back away.

"Not you, Elodie." Mr. Lafayette's voice is low and chilling. "Go to your room."

This is hard to watch. Two adults being treated like rebellious teens. Olivier puts an arm around Elodie and kisses her softly on the cheek. He meets my eyes, and I head for the main entrance.