“Fuck. Camellia,” Aaron warns.
I lean back. “Yes. Please.”
His eyes go wide as he stands from the couch. I’m still wrapped around him like an errant fire hose. He hustles toward the back of the house.
I kiss his face.
I lick his neck.
I bite his earlobe.
He groans my name as he drops me on a bed, wrestling my pants and underwear off my legs.
Then, I’m laid bare in front of him.
And he’s standing there for a beat too long, staring at me.
I lean up on my elbows. “What?”
He shakes his head.
I frown. “Why are you shaking your head? Why aren’t you naked too?”
He gapes at me for a second, then slowly strips out of his pants.
Sweet Mother of Mercy, he’s not wearing underwear. Not only is his penis glistening from pre-cum, but it’s also roughly the size of a peppermill.
It seems larger. Did it grow over the last two decades? Can that happen?
“Commando?” I grin. “I like it.”
“Laundry day,” Aaron shrugs. “Didn’t have anything clean.”
I pat my thigh. “Dirty boy. Get in here.”
Smart man that Aaron is, he doesn’t have to be asked twice. He kneels between my legs, then leans in for a soft kiss, slowing things down.
“What are you doing?” I ask when he pulls away.
“I didn’t get a chance to appreciate your naked body to the fullest extent last time,” he shrugs. “I want to make sure I take my time to worship everything.”
I chuckle. “That’s what happens when you fuck someone’s brains out in a closet.”
A shutter falls over his face. He sits back on his heels.
I sigh. “What now, Sparky?”
“I was an ass,” he scrubs his face with his hands.
“You were. But what specifically are you talking about?”
He gives me a gentle shove on the shoulder, and I laugh.
“Our first time shouldn’t have been in a supply closet,” he shakes his head.
“If it makes you feel any better, you could refer to it as ourlasttime,” I offer.
He glares at me. “No, that does not make me feel any better.”
