“What have you and Anika been practicing in private?” I asked, my gaze riveted on the beads of water that clung to your throat. You were leaned back against the rim of the tub, arms outstretched, and eyes closed, soaking your tired muscles.
“I was showing her how to French kiss,” you said with a smug smile. One of your eyes popped open to gauge my reaction. My desire had not dimmed since the training yard. I wanted your naked body against mine.
“Why don’t you come over here and demonstrate your technique?” I sat back in the tub and smoothed my hands over my thighs as an invitation. Without delay you sloshed over and wrapped your legs around me with your knees digging into my waist. The veins in your arms fluted over tight knots of muscle, and your tapered torso accentuated the roundness of your butt. I slid my hands along the base of your back and rested them there. Your contours fit with mine so well.
Your smile widened as you ran your fingers lovingly over my beard. “I like it like this.” You rubbed your cheek against my jaw, then sat back to smooth your hands over my chest, curling your fingers in the damp hair and gently tugging. “So manly.”
“What else do you like?” I asked with a drowsy grin.
“I like your voice when you’re trying to be tough,” you whispered, licking at my ear. The gentle pinch on my lobe was your sharp teeth breaking skin.
“I am tough, and you’d better listen to me. Or else.”
“Makes me hard.” You surged against me, rubbing your length against my stomach in a slow, sensual rhythm. Your kisses trailed along my neck, and I leaned back to give you full access to my throat, one of your favorite places to feed. “Know what else makes me hard?” you hummed.
“Tell me.”
“This little monster.” Clutching my phallus in both hands, you stroked it in a slow and measured way. My foreskin stimulated my cockhead in a delicious slide while you rocked back and forth, undulating on my lap. A guttural groan erupted from my diaphragm, my mouth already open when your tongue swept my lips. A nibble on my lower lip drew more blood and was followed by your soft suckling, a gentle moan. Your quiet, keening noises were an aphrodisiac all their own.
“That’s not kissing, that’s biting,” I said as I drew my hand along your supple spine.
“A bloodborn kiss.” The next caress of your tongue felt like an apology, and when you entered my mouth, I tasted my own blood. Your tongue tangled with mine in languid strokes, plunging in deep, then slowly retreating. Teasing. Playful. You tempted me until my head lifted and I bent forward, my tongue now in your mouth, seeking more. You were ever the provocateur, though I did relish your particular style of torment.
I cradled your head in the palm of my hand, consumed by the simple task of claiming your mouth. Even in this gentle penetration, you enthralled me with your easy submission. A moan escaped you, and your spine curved like a kopis blade, hair hanging in wet coils around your face. You bit down on your swollen lower lip, drawing blood, and I forced your mouth back to mine so that I might have that too. Greed and lust bloomed in my loins.
“Henri,” you whispered, hips knocking gently against me. “Don’t let me come.”
I squeezed the base of your shaft with enough force to cause your abdominals to shudder and your shoulders to curl inward. You uttered a tortured gasp, eyes still closed, as if adding any more sensation might overwhelm you. My other hand swept along the cleft of your buttocks, gripping one globe possessively as my middle finger skirted over that tight pinch of muscle. I studied the tantalizing curve of neck and spine while you ground out your pleasure. Then, as if realizing yourself, your head lifted, and you stared at me with reproach.
“I am sucking your cock tonight.”
My eyebrows rose at your commanding tone. “Yes, your majesty.”
I released you from my embrace, and you stood in the bath, a bit shaky on your feet. While you dried off, I admired the broadening span of your shoulders, the firmness of your glutes, the corded muscle of your thighs that narrowed to your knees then swelled again at your calves. Yours was the physique of a young warrior, and it pleased me.
“You perving on me, old man?” you asked with a cheeky grin.
“You’re not giving me much of a choice,” I said in my own defense.
You scrubbed your thick ropes of hair before tossing the towel over a chair.
“I’ll be waiting in the bedroom. On my knees.”
I stroked my cock a few times to relieve some of the mounting pressure, then gave myself a cursory toweling off. Pausing at the entrance of the bedroom, I saw that you were indeed kneeling on a carpet by the bed, knees spread wide, pretty phallus tipped upward like an arrow and dripping with honey. Your eyes were shut, and your jaw relaxed so that your mouth fell open a little. I had a marvelous idea then.
“How would you feel about being blindfolded?”
“Yesss,” you hissed and placed both your hands behind your back as if doubling down on your capitulation. I pulled a purple sash from one of the curtains and strode over to you. My thumbs caressed the silky material over your eyes as I folded it around the back of your head. Cinching the knot brought with it a deep satisfaction, that you would trust me so completely to guide you through the motions of our lovemaking.
“We can take it off at any time.” I didn’t want to trigger any unpleasant memories from your time in captivity.
“I remember my safeword. Do you?”
“Pikachu.” It was the little yellow rabbit from the trading cards you’d once collected.
You laughed. “Might be time for me to level up with something a little more mature.”
“I won’t tell.”
