“Nothing,” he shakes his head slightly. “I’m overthinking things. Getting all in my head.”
I offer a one-shoulder shrug. “It happens. What can I do to help?”
Dion looks up and down the length of my body. “You’re doing it. You’re being patient with me. You’re making me talk even though I don’t want to,” he tries to level me a stern look, but there’s too much of a smile with it to be convincing,” and you are looking very hot right now with that messed-up travel hair and your blue eyes that somehow seem even bluer now we’re in the city of light.”
“But it’s really overcast outside,” I point out with a frown.
He places a hand on the side of my face. “You really need to get better at accepting a compliment. Especially when I’m trying to seduce you.”
“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” I tease.
“Yes,” he pushes me so I’m flat on my back and climbs on top of me again. “Because that would also help me. A lot. If you could just lie back and make those noises I love as I take you in my mouth.”
“Oh, fuck, Dion, I…” Words are too much for me as he pulls me out of my tracksuit trousers, pushes my T-shirt up – taking extra care around my stoma belt – and he does exactly what he said he would.
“Wait!” I find a scrap of strength to lift his mouth off me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He growls at me, and he knows what that does for me, but I need to know he’s okay. “I promise I’m okay. Or I will be once you’re coming down my throat.”
I tip my head back and surrender. My hands fall off his face, and I bring them up above me, onearm over my eyes and the other fisting the pillow as he takes me so deep into his wet, warm mouth.
“Shit, Dee,” I moan as my hips thrust and my stomach tenses, because he’s so good at this. His wicked tongue and his full lips and the kind of heat and slickness wet dreams are made of.
He hums acknowledgement of my pleasure as he sucks around my head, the tip of his tongue tickling my slit.
“Merde,” I hiss, because I always slip into French when he gets me this close, this quick, and I know he likes that too.
His hands cup my balls, and I see the wave of my orgasm rolling closer and closer, but I don’t want to ride it yet. I want…
“No, Dee,” I say as I shift my hips and move away. “I want to come with you.”
He licks his lips as he moves up the bed. “You are too fucking romantic for your own good.”
“Well, we are in Paris…” I say with my best smile and a little wink.
“Am I going to have to sit on your face to shut you up?” Dion cocks an eyebrow at me. His right one, which is definitely my favourite eyebrow of his. Apart from the left one.
“You know that would only make me noisier,” I say, maintaining that smile.
“Roll over. On your stomach.” Dion says, all sternness and seriousness, but there is an undeniable warm glint in those big, dark eyes of his.
“But I want to come with-”
His hand around my throat shuts me up. “Be a good boy and do as you're told.”
It surprises neither of us when that’s exactly what I do.
DION
I have been looking forward to seeing many things in Paris. Returning to the Louvre and the Spartacus statue. The sunset from Montmartre Hill. The street art in Butte-aux-Cailles. The daily markets scattered around 17thArrondissement.
But I suspectthiswill be my favourite view from the trip.
I’ve stripped Benji of all his clothes apart from his stoma belt, and he’s lying face down on the bed in front of me, his head pillowed by his folded arms. He turns to the side, trying to look at me, and I swing between wanting him to see me admire the view of his pert buttocks, arched back and broad shoulders, and not wanting him to see all the love I have for him in his eyes. Not because his knowing how much I adore him is a bad thing, but because I don’t need that mirrored back at me – and it absolutely would be mirrored back at me because that’s who Benji is – but because I want to focus on him. I want to give him a bit more love and appreciation and tenderness before he focuses on pleasing me.
And I’m going to do that by eating his ass.
“I’m not… we’ve been on a plane,” Benji mumbles like he can read my mind.
