Page 53 of Napkins and Other Distractions
“Holy shit,” I say.
Finally, moving off my cock with a trail of cum dripping onto his beard, Kent says, “Leg cramp!” He reaches a hand toward mine and says, “Help me up. Please.”
I hold on to the shower handle and pull, and when Kent’s standing, he wraps his arms around me. His damp chest hair brushes against my torso, and my thoughts scatter. What is this man doing to me?
“Hey,” he whispers into my ear with warm breath.
“You’ve got a little … ” I point to his chin.
Touching his face, Kent wipes my seed with his thumb and pops it in his mouth, making a show of licking it clean.
“You’re scrumptious.”
“That was … unexpected,” I say, tugging at his damp beard.
“Were you into it?”
“Um, you couldn’t tell?” I ask, kissing his shoulder. My lips linger, longing for closeness.
“No, I could tell. Just wanted confirmation.” He pulls me closer, the pressure soothing my soul, and his cock, still firm, pokes my own dick, now only semi-hard.
“Let’s get you off,” I say.
“Um, I’m okay. That was amazing. It’s not necessary,” he says. “I’m kind of out of breath.”
Kent’s heavy breathing and small laughter mingle with the sensation of his unyielding erection prodding against me.
“I have an idea,” I say. “Let’s get you clean first.” I take two pumps of soap and begin lathering his chest. Warmth radiates from my cheeks, adding to the steam between us. “I think you’ll enjoy this.”
CHAPTER 18
Kent
Vincent wraps a white towel around his waist, the fabric snug against his skin. He hands me another from the shelf. “Come,” he whispers, his voice soft and soothing, guiding me gently to the main room. The dining table, covered in LEGO Paris, has more streets and buildings than the last time I was here. He slides the small coffee table away from the deep chocolate leather sofa and lays the extra towel on the hardwood floor, doubling and smoothing it like a picnic blanket.
I have no idea what he’s up to, but having his feet in my mouth, licking and lapping his toes, I never in a million years thought that would happen. How, at fifty-two, am I only now discovering a fascination with feet? It never crossed my mind with Corrine. She probably would have let me explore if I’d suggested it. But I never did. A few times at the beach, I’ve noticed men, mostly their legs, thick thighs, strong calves, and, yes, their feet. Sturdy toes, with a dusting of hair and defined tendons, have caught my gaze occasionally, but I never thought much about it.
My cock, still thick and firm, has never been this hard without a pill. Even with Vincent’s napkins, wipes, and LEGO-filled condo, this man does something to me I’ve never quite experienced. He’s my medicine.
He sits on the sofa, the leather creaking softly under his body. Unwrapping his towel, he exposes his beautiful package, now soft but still exquisite, spreads his legs, and nods to the towel.
“Sit. Rest your back here.” He pats between his legs. I lower myself to the ground with a few grunts, throw my towel aside, and lean back between him, still unsure what he has in mind.
“Relax,” he says, his hands rubbing my shoulders.
I hear him squirt something onto his hands, and the smell of coconut takes over. He’s lathering something, the sounds and aroma intoxicating. And then it happens. My breath hitches, and the air vacates my lungs as Vincent Manda’s legs wrap around my torso and his delicious feet seize my hard cock. Carefully, he begins stroking, his slick soles gliding up and down the sensitive skin of my shaft, sending shivers through my body. When his big toe brushes over the tip, I let out a moan, and he reaches down and cups my chest. Holy fuck.
His hands, lost in my chest hair, massage my pecs, and he teases my nipples. His feet never stop jerking me, and yowsers. The sensation of having his feet and hands on my body makes my insides quiver in anticipation. My body wants to relent, give over, and allow my orgasm to happen, but this is too good. Too amazing. Too much. Grasped by Vincent’s extremities … I yearn to stay in this moment forever.
“Do you like this?” he asks, leaning forward enough so his breath tickles the hair on the back of my neck.
“I love it. You’re such a fucking good boy,” I tell him, the pleasure bubbling over. My hands glide up and down his smooth calves as they guide his feet.
With my last words, Vincent’s dick, now semi-hard, surges against my shoulder.
“That didn’t take long,” I say, surprised at his recovery time.
“It’s you, Kent.”
