60. Max

‘Can I interest you in a tea towel?' I ask, watching his face for a reaction, and he laughs. It's a gem of a laugh—genuine, unguarded—and it's a delight to see him like this. He's a man who's had the courage to follow his heart (or his dick, if you prefer), and it's a fucking revelation. He's not pinched or aghast or conflicted or any of the other go-to reactions he holds close.

He allowed himself to come, and he allowed himself to make me come, and he looks all the better for it.

‘I'll take a tea towel,' he says, and his sheepishness has me glancing down again at my handiwork with all the pride of a three-year-old who's nailed Jackson Pollock week at nursery. And as he peels his backside off the front of the fridge, his skin separates from the cupboard with an audibly wet noise that has both of us cracking up.

‘Was that your cum?' I ask, my hand flexing around the area where his neck meets his shoulder and he nods, biting down on his lip.

‘Fucking hilarious,' I say, reluctantly backing away so I can grab the tea-towels hanging off the front of the oven. ‘This is what happens when Darcy leaves us to our own devices. We turn into animals.'

I wipe my cum off his front before turning him around and looking after his sticky arse. The mere sight of his taut cheeks and the shadow of his cleft has my dick twitching again. I swipe at it with the tea towel. ‘Move.'

His arse has left two nice wet imprints on the cabinet. I rub at them before wiping down the splatters further down and on the floor. Both surfaces are horribly smeared, but I couldn't give a shit.

‘Come on,' I tell him, sauntering past and grabbing our beers. ‘Shower.'

‘I'll just grab a washcloth if that's easier,' he says, traipsing behind me.

‘Who said anything about washing?' I ask over my shoulder.

His answering laugh is music to my ears.

So this ishow it can be when he's relaxed.

Half-empty beer bottles on the shower's built-in shelf, and me, soaping Dex up, and him leaning against the tiles, surveying me openly, wantonly. Drinking me in. Eye-fucking me, even.

Time is on our side this evening. Darcy's not due for another hour at least and, thanks to the lack of time we wasted in getting each other off, our shower can be leisurely.

‘What shall we do with her when she gets here?' I ask him, glossing his delts with suds and musing on the probable cost of having someone's likeness cast in bronze.

He pouts when he's thinking.

I wonder if he knows that.

‘Mmm,' he hums luxuriously, letting those golden eyes flicker closed as he considers. ‘Fuck her as many times as she'll let us.'

I laugh at the insouciance of a thirty-year-old with all the rounds of ammo a man could need. ‘Good start. I need to work on her arse a bit more. I've started warming her up, but… I need to work on both your arses, to be honest. Seriously, if we're going to do this properly, I need inside you both, as soon as possible.'

‘Put us both through buttcamp,' he deadpans, and I laugh aloud, throwing my head back, because now that he's done being an uptight little prick, he's pretty fucking funny.

‘I'd be extremely careful what I joke about, if I were you,' I say, reaching around him so I can run a couple of menacing fingers between his cheeks. He's still lubed up with coconut oil back there.

‘I'm not actually joking,' he says with a cocky little smirk that makes me want to wipe it right off.

‘Just be thankful I'm playing a long game here.' I mean it lightly, but he jolts. Turns out, that's enough for him to lose his smirk.

‘Does that freak you out?' I ask him.

‘No.' He whispers it. ‘I'd be freaking out a lot more if I thought this was a one-off.'

The very fact of his chest rising and falling with his breaths is a miracle to me. I need to get a grip. God, the idea of cutting him loose after this is unthinkable, that's what it is. But we've come a long way this evening. Not everything that could be said should be said.

‘Your longevity,' I say, swiping my thumb over the wetness of that lower lip that haunts me, ‘depends on how skilful your mouth is.'

I've thrown down the gauntlet.

We stare at each other, unblinking.

‘You know I'll do anything,' he says, ‘but…'

I frown. ‘But what?'

‘But I want you to make me do it,' he whispers.

I've purposely gone easy on him, because come on. Nothing about his reactions to me before this evening has been straightforward. So it would be gratifying to be sure he wants all this without my pushing him. But I've been too lust-fogged to see the precious gift he's handing to me.

The little beauty wants me to push him.

I grab at his hair, at the longer ends that curl over his neck, and yank hard enough to turn us both so I'm leaning against the tiles. I release him and cross my arms below my pecs as I eye him. We're both hard again.

‘What the fuck are you waiting for, then?' I jerk my head. ‘Go on. Get down there and suck me off, and get yourself off while you're at it. I want you to know how it feels to come when you're choking on my cock.'

I stand there, lips pressed tightly together in a mask of impatient exasperation I do not feel, but when his face contorts I know I've given him his first breadcrumb.

He rakes back his hair with both hands and gets to his knees in front of me, and I swear on all that is holy that my knees nearly buckle with the raw eroticism of having Dex naked and soaking and on his knees for me, ready to do my bidding.

His eyes articulate it all: the want; the anticipation; the apprehension, too. But then he's leaning forward and wrapping his hand around me and sticking out his tongue a little uncertainly, like it's the first time he's taking Holy Communion and he's not entirely sure how the mechanics work.

Little does he know that the mere sight of it—of his pink tongue and huge eyes and earnest expression—is almost enough to have me shooting my load.

As he licks me, swirling the sluicing shower water over my cock, I put my hands to his head and follow the path he's raked through his hair. He's a beautiful, Mediterranean creature. A Greek god made man. A Renaissance prince, perhaps. He's timeless and exquisite and so fucking obliging once he gets the fuck over himself, and I allow my head to fall back against the tiles once more and my hands to claw deeper, to grip his jaw harder, to control the speed, the depth, with which his clever, supple mouth takes me in.

One particularly energetic tug on my part has him testing his gag reflex, and as the spongy tissues of his throat contract around me, I have to tense up not to come.

‘You're a natural,' I grit out, caressing his jaw, allowing him a moment of latitude, and glancing down in time to see those blessed eyelashes flicker as he hums happily around my dick. His left hand stays clamped around me, his right arm working hard as he strokes himself, and I resolve to hang on tight.

‘Tell me when you're about to come,' I manage a few minutes later, when his licks, his sucks, have grown messier and more desperate, and I fucking love that sucking my dick has him writhing and shuddering around my cock.

‘Now,' he gasps out, popping off me for a quick second before sucking me back in.

Thank fuck.

‘Good,' I say through clenched teeth, and I grip his jaw again and let him have it, my hips volleying, my dick fucking his mouth and my hands holding him relentlessly in place as he flails and bucks and gives me such wonderful, strangled whimpers.

‘Rub yourself so hard,' I hiss. ‘I want you to feel how filthy this is, what a dirty little slut you are for getting on your knees for me so soon. And look at you. You fucking love it, don't you?'

I know how heartily he disapproves of the s-word, so I take enormous pleasure in throwing it at him when he's teetering on the brink of sanity. Let him take all that shame and humiliation and fucking bathe in it; let it light him up from within.

He comes so prettily, my beautiful, brave boy on his knees for me in my shower with my dick down his throat and his cock in his fist. He takes my cum, he tries, swallowing around me as cum and shower water and saliva drip from his mouth.

And when we've both quite finished, I haul him up by his armpits, and I fold his wet, tired body in my arms, and I revel in the righteous weight of his head against my shoulder, and I tell him how very, very proud of him I am.