Page 90 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show
“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’ll be quiet.”
“Because I want you to relax,” I say. “And, it’s, um, probably best if we’re not too noisy. Just because I haven’t personally tested the soundproofing of this room.”
“I’ll be quiet,” he whispers.
I go back to licking and sucking and stroking, my new favorite things. I go back to inhaling Sebastian’s scent, less Tom Ford, more just him, and I go back to gazing at him from my position, seeing pink grow over his chest, and seeing his blue eyes gaze at me in wonder.
“I’m going to...” he whispers.
I shake my head and suck harder.
“I’m going to,” he whispers even more quietly, even more frantically. He writhes on the massage table. His throat moves. Sweat dabbles his forehead.
And then he explodes. I suck it all, thankful he’s not as big as me. Thankful he’s something I can handle with ease.
“That was...”
“Incredible?” I ask.
“Magnificent...” he murmurs.
His eyelashes flutter, and I kiss his temples, kiss his cheeks, kiss his lips.
At some point all his worry will come back to him, and his thinking will go into overdrive, but for now I want him sated and glowing.
He sits up, and I slide beside him on the massage table, wrapping my arm around his waist. He tucks his head against my neck, his breath still fast.
He glances at my own cock, hard and throbbing and uncomfortable in my pants. It points up indecently, unhampered by my sweatpants.
He reaches for it. “I can...”
I kiss his forehead. “Later. Now I’ll think about unpleasant things.”
“Like the trip to Ashcove.”
I glance at him. “You were supposed to stop thinking about that for longer.”
He shrugs. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, that was super hot. Are you sure you haven’t done it before?”
“Only for you.” I grin. “Though I do have a reputation for physical strength and grace.”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you quoting the latest Sports Sphere article about you?”
“Did you read it too?”
“Purely for professional purposes,” he says stiffly. “You are my Mr. Right.”
“Oh, yeah?” I’m pretty sure my eyes are dancing, and he blushes.
“I mean...” He swallows hard. “I mean, because of the show...”
I nudge his shoulder. There are things I want to say, but maybe I shouldn’t. Promises I’m not sure I can make.
And so, I’m silent, inhaling the eucalyptus scent and the faint smell of sweat and cum. Hopefully the air conditioner will do its thing and the scent will dissipate by the time the masseuse returns from his always lengthy break.
“I know what you meant,” I say instead, but he’s still tense, as if that somehow wasn’t the right thing to say after all.
“I should have followed your lead about the trip,” I say. “I’m sorry. I feel terrible.”
