Page 21 of The Men of Summer
“Ohhh...”
With his front glued to my back, his drumming heart resonates throughout my whole body. It ignites a feral desire, shooting straight to my dick. Oblivious to my state, he sucks in labored breaths that tickle the hollow of my neck. The tip of his tongue traces imaginary patterns there. Taunting. Toying. Teasing. Meanwhile, his hand continues its sweet torture while he murmurs the dirty little details that his mouth, fingers, and tongue will soon lavish upon my skin, in broad daylight. Thank goodness, the intricate wrought-iron railing grants a small sense of privacy, but still…
Anticipation fuels my lust. With a hooded gaze, I turn my head and watch him grind his stiffy against myderrière.
“Mmm… So good…” we agree simultaneously.
I can’t take it anymore, so I discard my untouched coffee on the small round table and open my mouth to tell him to hurry the fuck up. He’s faster than me. Sliding his hands inside of myboxer briefs. Tugging roughly on my throbbing dick. Fondling my balls.
“Thank fuck!” I growl in a low voice as my hard-on springs free.
Before my shorts and undies land at my ankles, Dante swiftly spins me around, one of his hands gripping my hip while the other one ghosts over my backside.
Taking a labored breath, I lick my lips to suppress a salacious grin as his knees hit the ground. A complaint is muffled by his loud gasps. Within seconds, I kick my clothes out of the way and toe off my flip-flops.
We lock eyes. His flushed cheeks match mine.
Damn, he’s breathtaking…
His tongue darts out, barely brushing the tip of my painfully erect boner. Needy. Swollen. Ready. My pulse races, and I grunt. My knees buckle, and I clutch the railing behind me. My breath catches in my throat, and I curse again. “Oh, fuck… More, D, give me more.”
“My pleasure.” With that, he licks his index finger, circles my entrance, and slides in at the very moment my length hits the back of his throat.
“Holy hell, baby…” My fingers fist his silky black hair.
As promised, his talented mouth, skillful tongue, and wicked fingers work their magic. Drawing me in. Pumping me with renewed purpose. Massaging my heavy ballsack. The erotic noises he makes while pleasuring me send me into overdrive, and I thrust upward, mumbling an apology. My ass clenches around his crooked finger that rubs my prostate mercifully. His tongue flicks around the head while his hand applies the right pressure. His cheeks hollow.
“You are a glorious sight!” I choke out, my fingers tightening around his mane of hair until he releases me with a pop.
He stares at me with a glazed look. “Fuck my mouth!” My brows hit my hairline as heat flares at his command. One that I’ve used countless times, but he never has. My hold on the railing tightens, and breathing becomes a challenge. I shiver at the mild spring breeze on my fevered skin. I’m so far gone already.
So I do as I’m told. With a half-smirking, half-thankful expression, I watch him watch me, his finger still deliciously lodged inside me. My mouth waters at the visual. “You look… so hot—”my rushed words tumble out in a longing whisper “—right now…” The deeper he takes me, the more I give him. We find a blissful rhythm.
Taking all of me at a frantic pace, my hammering heart is about to burst when he gags. His eyes water, but he doesn’t falter. I can’t stop. It’s too damn good, and he lets me. “Encore…. Ohhh,oui…Mmm…Là, comme ça…” I rarely use French these days—and when I do, it’s mostly for Jeremy’s benefit—but I’ve lost all control. The sounds we’re making are maddening. I’m dangling over the edge of ecstasy and wish the thrill would last forever. Alas, I cry out his name as I spill into his willing mouth. Swirling around my flaccid length, he swallows every drop.
Once again, I’m released from his wet paradise with a pop, and his finger also vanishes. Huffing and puffing, I mourn the loss and am flooded by the myriad of emotions his ministrations elicited in me. “Holy shit!” I stammer, slowly coming down from my high. “Thank you…” I trail off, getting my bearings.
Still kneeling, he looks up at me. “I’m afraid the coffee’s cold.” A smile tugs at the corner of his swollen lips. With one hand still latched onto the railing for support, I grin from ear to ear and help him to his feet with the other.
My smirk is back. I pull his rosy-cheeked face to mine and kiss him senseless. My pulse trips on itself. He opens for me. Asalways, a jolt of lust travels from my head down to my toes when I taste myself on his tongue.
I groan when his mouth leaves mine. “Happy anniversary.” His sexy voice is soft. He purses his lips, then deposits a gentle kiss on mine, contradicting the hungered bliss we partook in.
I laugh, genuinely surprised, and finally let go of the railing. “Is it? Did we miss it again?”
“By a week or so,” he admits, shrugging. “But you know us. We’ve never been sticklers for exact dates.”
True that… Valentine’s Day, anniversaries, and birthdays aren’t our forte. Jeremy’s birthday is the exception.
Dante claims it’s a belated celebration, so he felt compelled to make amends, but he wanted an excuse to indulge in this getaway, a “unique blend of casual elegance,” according to the brochure. The idea behind this trip was to pause and pay tribute toThe Boys of Summer, Dante’s breakthrough in the music industry. The song represents everything to us because it was his tribute to the wayward feelings I ignited in him about twenty years ago. To be late implies that we selected a specific date. What would have been the best time to celebrate? The day he wrote the song? The day it was released? The day it hit the charts? Today is as good a day as any to tout my man’s success… and he’s the one who gifted me with an earth-shattering blowjob. He’s perfected the art and confessed that he enjoys giving as much as receiving.
See! We’re a match made in heaven.
In silent agreement, we walk back inside, unearth our hiking boots from our duffel bags, and sit on the edge of the bed to put them on. A rush of affection overwhelms me. “You’re right. It’s the occasions that count, not the calendar. Damn, I love you so fucking much, Dante Reyes.”
“Ditto, Zayn Mansouri.” His lips brush mine with a soft kiss.
My heart somersaults at his gentleness. We prefer small, mundane gestures over grand ones. Our busy and often conflicting schedules don’t allow us to arrange many surprises. Case in point, we had to discuss this trip many times prior to it becoming a reality; having to coordinate with friends complicated matters. The destination was kept a surprise. I never fathomed that he’d opt for such a luxurious place.
