“Gorgeous. You are gorgeous.” Dario claims Charlie’s mouth with his own.
Charlie presses into him, tipping them both backward. The feel of Charlie’s hot, supple, naked body against his fully clothed one makes his dick punch against his zipper. He beckons Charlie higher until Charlie’s hands are splayed above the headboard and his rigid cock is right at Dario’s mouth.
Spit builds before he wraps his lips around Charlie. He takes his time working the impressive length down his throat and back up again. A single taste is all he wanted. A pure tease.
He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and inches up on the bed. Charlie whimpers as Dario’s zipper glides across the underside of Charlie’s swollen cock.
Their slightly dewy foreheads press together as they look down at the second contact point between them. A sticky,wet mess forms as Dario leaks through two layers of clothes. Charlie’s precum links to the dark spot on the front of Dario’s trousers, creating a spiderweb of sexual need. They are helplessly trapped in the gluey silk of it.
Dario hooks his hands under Charlie and swipes his thumbs across his already-erect nipples. They are two pink stars in the milky white galaxy of soft skin. Charlie quivers each time, as if his body got set to vibrate.
It hurts in the best way, how hard Dario is inside his pants. Gently, he guides the heel of Charlie’s hand to the notable bulge in his slacks. Rolling his hips up and up and up, he writhes against Charlie’s opposing strength while grabbing the exposed globes of Charlie’s pert, hair-dusted ass. The friction is terrific and causes powerful jolts through his pelvis.
Dario delights in the expression on Charlie’s face, totally contorted with indulgence. It’s the same look he had when he taste-tested all those chocolates back at the factory.
“How do you say ‘feed me’ in Italian?” Charlie asks, fingers toying with the zipper on Dario’s slacks.
“Nutrimi,” Dario says.
“Nutrimi,” Charlie parrots with near-perfect Italian pronunciation. Dario could come from the sweet sound of it.
Dario nods, so Charlie drags out Dario’s firm, veiny, uncut cock and hefty, shaven balls. “When I saw the outline of this package inside your swimsuit, I knew I had to have it.” Charlie’s tongue dips beneath his foreskin.
“It’s all yours,” Dario says, voice cracking a bit from the explosive sensations.
Charlie wastes no time creating a steady pull and draw with his mouth. Dario can barely gasp in enough breath to stay conscious at how good it feels. Nobody has ever blown him like this. Made it feel like he’s being worshipped.
Charlie uses one hand as backup for his mouth while the other toys with Dario’s balls, which hike up with each passing slurp.
“I can’t hold out much longer,” Dario grunts through a tense jaw. It’s been too long since he’s been with another person, and the mounting pleasure quickly becomes all-consuming.
“Nutrimi,” Charlie says again, gazing up at him. Those hooded eyes grow darker and more intense. “Feed me, Candy Man.”
Dario plunges back into the heaven that is the blue-haired American’s mouth. Such a hot, pliable entry that makes his dick ecstatic. He spills his cream down Charlie’s throat. With his head flung back, he yelps in ecstasy, the sound echoing into the night.
Cum specks the corners of Charlie’s rosy, ravaged mouth. Dario wipes at it with his pointer finger. All too happy, Charlie laps at it while pumping himself between his legs. “That might be sweeter than anything you make at your factory.”
Dario chuckles. His muscles have unwound to the point of depletion. All he does now is flip his tie up and over his shoulder. Charlie crawls upwards on his knees. He hikes himself over Dario’s still-proudly-standing erection. The slick, exposed head grazes the cleft of Charlie’s ass, and Dario fantasizes about fucking the tantalizing tattooed hunk in his lap, feeling that tight, American hole stretch around his thick cock. Oddio, he feels he could come again already from the simple reverie.
Charlie must sense this, because he rubs his cheeks against Dario’s length as he continues to stroke himself.
“Sei bello,” Dario muses, roving his hand along Charlie’s heaving torso. He can’t take his eyes off Charlie, a complete smokeshow. “Sei molto, molto bello.”
In seconds, Dario’s finely pressed white shirt becomes a cum canvas for Charlie’s spectacular load.
Charlie collapses over into the puddle of his own making, and Dario holds him close as their slowing breaths sync up.
SEVENTEEN
DARIO
“How was your night?” Michelle asks, sitting down across from Dario at the patio table for breakfast the next morning.
The rising sun scorches the lawn already with temperatures set to reach thirty-two degrees Celsius. Over an untouched spread of orange slices, a hardboiled egg and a cappuccino, Dario cools himself with an artisanal fan decorated in a paisley pattern that was once his mother’s prop in an opera, the name of which he’s entirely forgotten. As a boy, sitting in the darkened auditorium watching his mother perform, he became infatuated with it, and on closing night, his mother gave it to him as a gift. “A fan for my number one fan,” she said with a kiss on his forehead.
When she’s touring—which she often is—he misses his mother with a childish fervor.
“Va bene,” Dario says, avoiding direct eye contact with Michelle, who carries a yogurt parfait to the table. He worries that she will see in his eyes that he and Charlie had sex last night. Once again, has he crossed an unconscionable line?
