Shortly thereafter, we bid your friends goodnight. I told Bruno you wouldn’t be coming home until tomorrow and not to worry as you’d be in my care.
At Xavier’s condo you suggested we shower. I helped you undress, slowly—so that I might fully enjoy the experience—and praised your performance, which made you giggle and blush in a most alluring way.
“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” I admitted.
“You’re going to give me a big head,” you protested.
“Too late for that,” I said as I tickled your side lightly. I loved running my fingertips over your bare skin to have you squirm against me.
I turned on the water and held open the door so I could admire your backside on your way in. The pants you wore during your performance left little to the imagination, and from my seat in the front row, I could see your muscles shudder and flex with every movement. I’d been fantasizing all throughout the evening about how I might pleasure you and how your body might respond to my ministrations.
“This shower feels like heaven,” you said with a groan as the hot water relaxed your sore muscles and steam rose up all around us.
This time, I wasn’t jealous of the water caressing your skin, the breath circulating through your strong lungs, or the blood flowing in your veins, because I was there with you in a living, breathing body. We could do whatever we wanted, safe to explore each other for the next few hours at least. Xavier had given me this gift, and I wasn’t going to squander it.
I squirted body wash onto my palm and rubbed my hands together. I took my time gliding my hands over your broad shoulders and down your muscular arms, then turned you around to wash your chest and torso. Your nipples were a dusky rose color that flushed crimson when stimulated. You smiled shyly as I stroked your erection and cupped your genitals.
“Is this okay?” I asked, recalling your timidity the last time.
You nodded and blinked in a daze, your eyelashes curtained with moisture. You moaned as your head lolled backward, offering me a lovely view of your throat. I watched, fascinated, as your desires slowly overtook you, and your phallus plumped prettily in my hand.
“Lift your arms,” I instructed and grasped both of your wrists above your head, posing you for my pleasure. I dipped forward to properly smell the musk of your underarm, which made you laugh, abdominals rippling. I had a particular fondness for that stretch of muscle and the arteries located there. It was a vulnerable position to have one’s arms extended like that, a true sign of trust.
“I think they’re clean,” you said. I’d gotten distracted soaping you there while admiring the chestnut whorls of hair.
You dropped your forearms on my shoulders and commanded my attention. Your mouth opened and we kissed slowly, leisurely, like the sun could rise and set between the strokes of our tongues. Your hips rocked softly against mine, rousing me even more. I dragged my hands down your strong back and cupped the underside of your buttocks, lifting you onto your toes. I curled my fingers into your cleft as you groaned from the contact. I would learn your body as a conductor learns a piece of music, so that I might have you peak and dip at my command.
“Mmmm… Henri,” you whispered in my ear, casting a seduction of your own.
I turned you around, then lathered my hands again and went to work on your thighs, kneading your muscled flesh in a circular motion, slowly working my way up to your glutes. I reached again for your erection and squeezed lightly. You rolled your hips into my fist, forcing your shaft between my slick fingers. I matched your gentle thrusts from behind, trapping your pelvis between my body and my hand. The water and soap made everything slick as you pumped into my fist in a slow and steady rhythm.
“Do you know how envious I was of those men dancing so obscenely with you at that club?” I whispered.
“Tell me,” you groaned and reached back to encircle my neck with your hands.
My fist against your shaft made a wet, sucking noise as my fingers scaled up to your chest, securing you firmly against me.
“In my day, I’d have claimed you in front of everyone present and ravished you right there on the dance floor.”
“Sounds hot,” you teased and drew your fingers through the hair on the nape of my neck. “I wanted… to… call for you.”
I let go of your erection and placed your hands against the tile wall for balance. Your back arched like a cat stretching its claws as one of my hands dipped into the groove of your buttocks. My index finger slid up and down your cleft, pausing to linger on your muscular ring.
“Call for me now,” I commanded.
“Henri,” you moaned, such a musical sound to my ears.
“I’m going to wash you here.”
You nodded. Your curls were wet and dripping in your face. Water droplets beaded up on your bowed back. With a bit of conditioner as lubricant, I slowly teased your hole with the tip of my finger. Your sphincter was tight with a strong, throbbing pulse. It tugged at my fingertip, drawing me inside. No one had ever touched you like this, and it gave me a heady rush to know I was the first.
When you pressed back on my hand, I took that as a good sign. The pad of my fingertip probed deeper, just barely penetrating as you hissed and went up on your toes. Your entire body tensed, from your broad back to your bunched thighs to your finely sculpted calves. Using the removable showerhead, I washed you, gently, because I didn’t want to irritate those sensitive tissues.
“Let’s continue this on the bed.” I rinsed the remaining soap from your skin and shut off the water. You shivered from the sudden absence of heat, and I wrapped you in a towel, hugging you close and kissing your wet, swollen lips.
“I want to please you,” you said with your big brown eyes staring up at me.
“You do, every day. And you will.”
