To my surprise, my cock twitched at the none too gentle way he’d phrased it. Did I want that? Did the thought of that turn me on? It seemed it did.
Hooking a hand around his biceps, I pulled him toward me. “Let me kiss it better.” Laurent tried to resist, but my lips were already on him.
“Don’t bite,” he warned.
I kissed one nipple and then moved across to the other. “So it doesn’t feel left out,” I explained. “And don’t put ideas in my head.” Laurent’s skin was slightly salty, my tongue coming out to taste. I laved the tight peak, the stiff way Laurent held himself, saying he liked it. As did his hands fastening on the hem of myT-shirt to pull it over my head. “You like?” I asked, the question completely rhetorical when I could see from the heat in his eyes that he did. “Want to touch?”
“What am I going to do with you?” Laurent asked as he climbed onto the bed.
Instead of answering, I kissed him, the last ten minutes having been completely devoid of any lip action, a state of affairs I couldn’t let go on for much longer. Not when Laurent was just so damn kissable.
We eased into it, both lying back on the bed to get more comfortable. I realized how much Laurent had held back earlier when he stopped doing so, his mouth hungrier, his tongue more insistent, his body pressing mine into the bed.
His weight was interesting, no woman anywhere near that substantial. But I found I didn’t mind it. No, that was a lie. I liked it. Especially when we slipped into a grind, Laurent’s fingers hooking in the back pocket of my jeans to squeeze us more tightly together.
Laurent was all heat and hardness, the tireless movements of his hips against mine quickly transporting me to a place where coming without either of us removing our jeans became a distinct possibility. And that was before he started whispering words of French into my ears. He could have been saying anything to me for all I knew, but my body didn’t seem to care about that, lapping up the sexy accent like it had been waiting all its life to tangle with someone who could speak a language other than English.
“I don’t want to come in my jeans,” I eventually gasped out.
“Take them off, then,” was Laurent’s oh so practical suggestion. While I wriggled out of mine, he did the same, his still open zipper giving him enough of a head start that he finished first, adding them to the pile of clothes that already littered the floor.
I’d barely gotten rid of mine when he pushed me back on the bed and crawled on top of me. “Want to run for the door yet?”
“Not until I come,” I answered honestly. “Then, I’ll see.”
Rather than taking offense, Laurent laughed. He braced himself on his elbows, his face close to mine. “What do you want to do?”
“Do?” My brain was fried, his words making no sense.
“How do you want to come?”
“Together,” I answered immediately. “I want us both to come.”
Laurent gave a nod, amusement shining in his eyes. “I don’t think you’re ready to 69 yet.”
With rational thought and speech currently beyond me, I could neither confirm nor deny that fact. All I could do was stare as Laurent produced lube from somewhere and rolled to the side to prop himself up on one elbow. When a lubed palm found its way into my underwear, there was no holding back my gasp, the slight roughness of Laurent’s palm feeling like heaven against the sensitive skin of my cock. I held my hand out, palm up. Laurent knew exactly what I wanted without me having to ask and upended the bottle of lube with his free hand to make my palm as slick as his.
I had a split second of waiting for the doubt to set in as I slid my fingers beneath his waistband, but it was entirely absent as I wrapped my hand around Laurent’s cock.Just like stroking your own.It was, and it wasn’t, an inevitable comparison happening as I explored its heft. About the same length, but slightly thicker. Bigger balls. Only once I’d satisfied my curiosity did I slide my fist over him, Laurent doing the same as if he’d been waiting for me.
We started slowly, both working out what the other responded to in terms of speed and grip. Once we had, our mouths found their way back together, hungry kisses accompanying the increasingly frenzied movement of our hands.
Sweat prickled on my skin, and a cramp threatened from the somewhat awkward position. But I could no more have called a temporary halt to proceedings than I could have spoken fluent French. Because if I stopped, Laurent would stop too. And the impending orgasm was already simmering in my balls, sharp and insistent, and promising to be so damn good when I got there.
I moved my hand faster, Laurent following my lead and returning the favor. I gave up on kissing him, only capable of resting my forehead against his. It felt like clinging to a piece of driftwood in a stormy sea with the beach in sight, but the current not getting me there fast enough. “So close,” I gasped out. “Yes, like that.”
Laurent’s response was in French. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I was just too far gone to understand simple words. We came close enough together that neither of us was left frustrated, the wet splash of Laurent’s cum making everything slippy as I stroked him through his orgasm.
My hand slipped from his briefs as he collapsed onto his back, Laurent’s bare chest covered in sweat and rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to get his breath back. I lay next to him, cum-covered fingers resting on my chest, and my damp underwear feeling none too pleasant. Neither of us spoke for the longest time.
“I should probably confess something,” Laurent eventually said.
“What?” Even my voice held a glow of sexual satiation.
“That first night… After you let me ogle you in the shower and had zero complaints about it.”
I frowned. “Yeah?”
“I thought you’d asked me to stay because you wanted to get in my pants.”
