I laughed. “Come, let me feed you.”
“And then what?”
“Then, we’ll swim.”
“And then?”
“Likely a bath.”
“Henri,” you pouted. “I want to fuck.”
“Later, my darling, after you’ve been properly welcomed and ritually worshipped. Then, we’ll make love.”
We madeit to the bath before you pounced, rubbing your soap-slick skin against my own nakedness, not unlike a cat bunting for attention. Between your clawing and biting, you were more animal than man when aroused, though I’d always welcomed the sting of your affections.
“You’ve made me wait so long,” you fussed, lovemaking being one of your other favorite past times that I bore with immense fortitude.
“I’ve made you wait two hours, at most.”
“But we haven’t seen each other in forever,” you said with maudlin despair and nipped at the lobe of my ear. “I’ve forgotten what you taste like.”
“You seem to be refreshing your memory,” I said as you moved on to my neck.
“How can you resist me?”
“Clearly, I cannot,” I said with a lazy smile, for my length was well-positioned under the cleft of your buttocks and being roused by your rhythmic movement. Your mouth travelled along my throat where you caressed the sensitive skin with your teeth as though testing your resolve.
“Have me, Vincent,” I said and shortly thereafter, your sharp teeth broke skin. I groaned and curled inward, clutching you closer, savoring the eroticism of your thirst and the noises you made as you fed. It was rarer now that we indulged ourselves like this, needing to be more careful about blood loss and infection, but it was a ritual that I cherished.
You sat back with a long sigh and licked your kips. “Ahhh, that was good for my self-esteem.”
I grinned, a little light-headed, and tugged at your hair. “Your self-esteem has never been lacking.” My hand followed the curve of your spine to your fleshy buttocks and the intimate place nestled deep within. I stroked you there, inviting another satisfied moan to pass across your lips.
“My self-esteem is very shaky. I’m like a houseplant, only I require constant flattery and praise.” Eyes closed, you arched back in pleasure.
“If I’m resisting you, perhaps it’s only so that you’ll pursue me more ardently,” I said.
“A battle of wills?” You slowly withdrew from my embrace until you were across the tub, regally reclined and staring at me with your amber eyes glowing. The water was practically frigid where you’d left me.
“What’s this?” I asked, attempting to temper my own desperation to have you back in my arms.
You yawned. “I don’t know, Henri. I’m feeling awfully tired from my trip. I don’t know that I’m up for all that.” Your gaze drifted from my erect cock to the open window as if disinterested in what I had to offer.
“Oh no you don’t.” I scooped you into my arms, dripping wet and laughing like an imp. I dropped you onto the bed and wrapped us both in a sheet to dry us off, then kicked the damp thing onto the floor. You squirmed and twisted, fighting me the whole time because you liked a little rough play in bed, to be pinned down and rendered helpless. Our tussling evolved into gentle caresses as my mouth and hands reminded your skin to whom it belonged.
And then you were on top of me, your hands wrapped around my girth while your mouth savored my cock, making me mutter incomprehensible things. For a man of my experience to lose myself so thoroughly was a small humiliation, but you did like the encouragement. I basked in your attentions while admiring the messy spill of your hair and the drowsy, sex-addled look in your eyes that only I could inspire.
“You look like a Babylonian whore,” I said when you’d surfaced. With my thumb, I caught the trail of blood and saliva that had collected at the corner of your lips.
“Mmmm…” you purred, my cock still slipping deliciously along the palms of your hands. “Talk dirty to me, stud.”
“With blasphemy on her tongue, she reigns over the kings of earth, drunk on the blood of the saints,” I said, reciting a passage I’d once read.
“You’re no saint,” you said with a wicked grin. “More importantly, were the whores of Babylonia beautiful?”
“Devastatingly so. And vicious too.”
“I’m not vicious,” you said, affronted, and gave my nipple a sharp twist. “Is this first-hand knowledge, playboy?”
