“Sounds wonderful.”
I took advantage of your mellow mood, running my hands across your battle-scarred skin and digging into your dense tissue with my fingers. I told you to submerge yourself, then lay your head on my lap, so I could wash your hair. I took my time shampooing your long, tawny locks, trying to work out the tangles where the hair had knotted with dirt and dried blood. You moaned when my fingers massaged your scalp.
“Glorious,” you said and gazed up at me with tenderness. “We should do this more often.”
“Whenever you want.” I traced the angle of your bearded jaw with my thumb.
I filled a small bucket with water and rinsed your hair, then moved onto your front to wash your chest and arms. I ran my hands over your physique. Arms that had comforted me when I was hurt and sheltered me when I was afraid. The same body you’d lost and then regained. I’d bargained my soul for it. Didn’t that also make it mine?
“I love this body.” I’d admired it as a child, and now I wanted it as a man.
“It’s yours,” you said easily and without argument.
I told you to sit on the ledge so I could run my soapy hands over the tops of your muscular thighs and around to your tight hamstrings. I lifted each of your legs and washed your calves, ankles, feet, and toes. Then I kissed your inner thigh, inching higher, until I reached the heat of your groin. I inhaled that delicious tang of man. You were hard, had been since we started, and your erection bobbed on the water’s surface like a stranded buoy. Its size was a little terrifying, as big as any I’d ever seen. I wanted to lick, suck, and bite all at once, but for now, I only tongued the salt from your slit and kissed the tip. Any more than that and I’d surely cut you. A fantasy for another day.
“What have I done to deserve this worship?” you asked, fingers knotted in my hair, eyes drifting along my body, appraising.
“You put up with my smart mouth,” I said and wiped my chin with the back of my hand.
“I love your smart mouth. Come here and kiss me with it.”
I stood between your spread thighs, and you guided me to you. My frame molded against yours as my lips parted for your tongue. I imagined your cock doing the same, hollowing me out like an apple core.
“Let me wash you,” you said and turned me around so that my back was against your chest with your massive thighs couched on either side. Your cock lay heavy against my back as your fingers skated over my chest and downward. I rested against your collarbone, and you stroked me with long, easy tugs. My hips rocked against your inner thighs, and you prodded me more insistently.
“I can’t wait to take you to my islands,” you said, your voice a seductive rumble in my ear. You kissed my shoulder, cool lips against my hot skin. “There are freshwater springs and secluded grottos, citrus trees that scent the air with orange blossom, and a lovely hilltop meadow surrounded by clouds.”
“You want to fuck me on your islands,” I said with a lazy grin.
“On the beaches, in the grass, against the rocks, bent over my balcony with the blue sea behind you.”
My mind drifted, imagining it. The two of us tumbling around until you’d teased me long enough, stripping me naked, climbing on top of me, pressing my cheek into the sweet summer grass. But I didn’t need a picturesque vista, I only needed you.
“I don’t want to wait,” I said. Who knew what tomorrow might bring?
A long silence while you deliberated, and then, “bend over.”
Your tone sent a shiver through me. I reached across the pool and gripped the ledge of the sharp rock with my ass in the air, beyond ready.
“There’s oil,” I said helpfully and stretched my back, limbering up.
“You look lovely like that.” You drew one hand down my spine and squeezed my ass, then dipped lower to massage between my legs. I spread them farther apart to give you a better angle. My cock was primed and dripping. Soon after, I heard the sound of the bottle cap being unscrewed and your slick fingers rubbing together. I started salivating like a dog as your hand splayed across the small of my back and your thick digit circled my hole, torturously slow. I pushed back impatiently.
“Stop teasing me,” I said. You’d made it an art form.
You chuckled, throaty and raw. I always knew when you were feeling sexy by the sound of your voice, that deep rumble that made my balls ache.
“So eager,” you said, then slid a finger inside me. It was still alarming, that first intrusion. Made me clench. Your finger twisted and curled to prod at my gland. I squirmed and moaned while your free hand traveled up my spine to fist my hair.
“I want to mount you,” you said.
“You might as well say fuck, Henri.”
“I want to mount you and then make love to you.”
I snorted in response, and you answered with a second finger, timed like a punishment. Or a reward. I couldn’t make any more sensible arguments because my body was taking over, rocking hungrily back and forth, fucking myself open on your fingers. I uttered noises I’d never made before—low growls and high-pitched whimpers. They bounced around the cave walls and were echoed by the dybbuks. There weren’t enough frequencies for all of these sensations.
“Three now,” you said, and the sting of it stole my breath away. The edges of my vision blackened, and I worried I might pass out.
