“How long will it take?” he asks.
“Another five minutes or so. Not long. Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
He keeps kissing my neck and jaw, so it’s hard to decide if he’s hungry for food or for me. I assume the former and wish for the latter. No strings is harder than I thought. My heart doesn’t seem to have got the memo that none of this is real. If only he weren’t so tender with me. If only he weren’t kissing me the way he is. Not that I’m going to stop him. It’s too nice. Too loving. No. Not loving. He’s horny. That’s all there is to it.
“Could you stir?” I ask.
“Sure. Why?” He moves to stand beside me, takes the spoon, and stirs the sauce slowly.
“So I can do this.” I sink to my knees, put one hand on his hip, and grasp his cock with the other. He’s got rid of the condom he was wearing for sex.
“Kian—” Whatever he wanted to say is forgotten as I suck him off.
I go down on him until I think the food is more or less ready. Then I stand, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and find a colander to drain the pasta. Jett gapes at me. His cock stands to attention, glistening with my spit. That’s one way of reminding myself that this is just sex. I serve the food, put it on his table, and sit.
“Are you coming?” I ask as I stir the sauce into my pasta.
“You half suck me off, and now you’re going to eat?”
“Yes. You should too, or your food will go cold.”
He opens and closes his mouth a few times.
“What? Hasn’t anyone ever sucked you off in the kitchen before?”
“No.” He sits opposite me.
I grin. “You’ve been missing out. I’ll finish you off after dinner if you want. But only if you eat all your food.”
As we eat, we chat about nothing consequential. It’s small talk at best, but it doesn’t matter. I love hearing his growly, gravely voice. When we’re done, I wash up while he kisses and caresses me, and then I make good on my promise of going down on him again. This time, I suck his cock until he comes into my mouth.
While he recovers, we sit on the sofa, watching an adult cartoon, his arm around me, my head resting on his shoulder.
“Do you want to watch another episode?” he asks when it ends.
“I should probably get going.”
Unlike in Scotland, we haven’t spent a night together. I’ve come over, we’ve had sex, we’ve enjoyed each other’s company during recovery time, and then I’ve gone home.
“You don’t have to.” He brushes his lips over my hair. “You could stay.”
“You just want more sex,” I tease.
“Yes,” he admits. “But this is nice too. Cuddling, I mean.”
I’m not sure what to say to that.
“Stay the night,” he reiterates.
I should say no, but I can’t. I want to be close to him. Want to spend time with him. I’m getting plenty out of this arrangement too.
“I owe you an orgasm,” he whispers into my ear.
“Okay. I’m sold on the idea. I’ll stay over.” I jab my finger against his chest. “But it had better be a good one.”
“It will be.” He lifts my chin with his fingers and claims my mouth. “I’ve got a very good teacher.”
