I close the distance between us and grip his shoulders. Immediately, I’m aware that I would likely never hold a woman this way to kiss her and that feels frustratingly awkward. Maybe it’s because I’ve already come. Maybe it’s because I’ve realised just how much I’m starting to feel for him. Maybe it’s because he’s still a man and I still have next to no experience kissing men. Whatever the reason I’m strangely more nervous about this kiss than I was when I practically pounced on him earlier.
I smile down at him nervously, very nervously.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m… overthinking. Again.”
His returning smile is genuine. “I know how that feels.”
“Really?” I’m surprised and it’s clear in my voice.
Giles leans towards me and I feel the hard warmth of his chest and stomach push up against mine. “Yeah, maybe one day I’ll tell you all about it,” he says and then he pushes up on his toes and presses his lips to mine.
For a long time, our lips stay like that. Pressed together, still closed and unmoving. His moustache tickles my top lip and I start to think that I could very much get used to that now not-so-foreign sensation. It’s like little jolts of electricity adding something to our already charged contact. I don’t know how long we stay like that, still and connected, but eventually I forget about time. It’s like neither of us want to part but we’re also hesitant to deepen the kiss.
I slide my hands down Giles’ arms feeling every dip and rise of his muscles and I have every intention of finding his hands, squeezing them and using that as a way to end the kiss, but Giles doesn’t let me do that. Instead he moves his hands and he places them on my hips. My hips that are still soft and plush, nothing like his sculpted body. I’m suddenly and uncomfortably aware of what he’s feeling there – flesh, a lot of flesh – and my body tenses, my hands falling off Giles’ arms.
“What?” Giles breaks our kiss and pulls back. “What’s wrong? Your whole body just changed.”
“You’re touching my… my love handles.”
Much to my dismay, Giles smiles and a crafty look brightens his eyes. “Your love handles?”
“My muffin top, my spare tyre, my gutbucket, my middle-aged spread.”
“Those are a lot of not very nice words for such a lovely part of your body.” He squeezes a small handful of my flesh in each hand.
“Lovely?” I snort. “Not likely.”
Giles looks down the length of my torso to his hands. “You’d be surprised how useful these could be, in certain positions.”
That has my eyebrows lifting. “Something for a future lesson?”
“You want more lessons?”
“I do,” I say and feel heat in my cheeks. This is getting fucking ridiculous. It’s going to be so bloody obvious how I feel about him if I carry on like this, and yet, I don’t stop myself from asking, “Same time next week?”
“That could work,” he says after a moment’s thought.
“Okay,” I say. I know that’s my cue to leave, but his hands are still on my hips, his fingertips stroking the soft rolls of my body there and I don’t move. I don’t step back.
“One more kiss for the road?” he asks and I am so tempted to push out a long breath of relief but I manage to stop myself in time and instead I lean down and press my lips to his and tell myself to enjoy the seconds he gives me a sweet, innocent kiss like this.
But that’s not what happens, his mouth is open and his tongue darts out and caresses my bottom lip. And that’s exactly what it is, a caress. It’s gentle and slow. It’s tender and tentative. And I want more.
Parting my lips, I meet his tongue with mine and I return his soft flicks and licks. But then he comes back firmer, greedier and I meet him where he’s at. Our kiss deepens and so does our grip on each other’s bodies. His hands dig harder into my skin, clawing at the flesh there, like he can’t get enough of what I have only ever thought as the flabbiest part of my out-of-shape body. But that doesn’t seem to put him off as he starts to grunt little moans into my mouth. Each noise he makes has me exploring his body more, my hands sliding down his strong back and finally cupping his tight, tight ass. It’s so unlike any other backside I’ve grabbed before – firm and solid – but I like it. I like it a lot as I start to paw at the muscle there.
It’s when I feel his hard length press against my thigh I realise that this is not a kiss goodbye, or at least it shouldn’t be. Momentarily, I think about dropping to my knees and trying my best to give him some of the pleasure his mouth gave me, but I already know I wouldn’t get close andI’m self-conscious enough to not even try. But there is something I could do that I have a bit more confidence in.
I bring one of my hands between us and trail it down Giles’ abs.
“Please can I touch you?”
“Marcello, you don’t—”
“I want to,” I say with emphasis but still Giles is silent. I try a different approach. “I mean, I’m ready for lesson two now, if you are?”
I watch Giles’ throat as he swallows. “If you’re sure…”
