“Turn back around,” I commanded.
You did so, and I drew back, fisted my erection, and tore at it savagely until I was decorating your backside with pearly ropes of semen. I climbed on top of you and crushed you into the soft bedding. Something primal in me wanted to dominate you completely. Cover you with my seed and scent and claim you as my own. A wave of lust for your blood overcame me, but I staved it off and contented myself with devouring the droplets of sweat and semen that still clung to your skin.
When I’d finished cleaning you with my tongue, you rolled over and hooked your leg around mine, burrowing your face into my chest and hugging me possessively. Your shoulders shook and I peeled you off to find your lashes wet.
“Why the tears, cucciolo?” You shook your head and smiled weakly. Perhaps I’d demanded too much of you. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, you did everything right.” I stroked your hair and you said with a sudden passion, “I love you, Henri. Forever and ever.”
I kissed your tears, salty and true. A sense of foreboding crept in once again, but I pushed it away. I dragged your head to my chest and let you burrow in my skin.
“I love you too, Orlando.”
You were my beautiful boy. My one and only treasure.
20
Henri
It surprised me how easily we slipped into the habits and rituals of a regular human couple. I was forever conducting research on what you liked—your favorite food and drink, your preferred scents and chosen brands of toiletries, the clothes you liked for me to wear—so that Xavier could have his condo stocked and ready for us.
I learned how you liked to be touched, the places on your body that were ticklish, and which of your erogenous zones were ultra-sensitive. Only your feet were off limits. You were self-conscious about the way they looked and a bit superstitious about them as well. The only thing you allowed to soothe your abused feet was a tub of warm water mixed with Epsom salts, a remedy you’d learned from your mother.
I learned the signs for when you were hungry, when you were tired, when you wanted to be comforted, and when you wished to be pleasured. I studied your heart rate, your aromas, the gleam in your eyes, the incline of your head when you asked me a question, and the curve of your lips that told me you were flirting. You were my most passionate study, and I memorized your body’s unique way of communicating with and without spoken language.
Xavier gave me twenty-four hours a week with you, and I wasn’t going to waste a minute of our time together, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t socialize with others. You took me bowling and to the movies with your friends, miniature golfing with Bruno and Tyrell, and shopping at the mall. I treated you to expensive meals, concerts, and cultural performances—whatever I thought might be of interest to you. When you and Bruno made it into the ballet company as apprentices, I took you both out to a celebratory meal which included Tyrell, since he’d become a close friend to both of you.
One of my favorite pastimes was to watch heads turn as you strolled into the room. A surge of pride always bloomed inside me when strangers admired your beauty and grace. And accompanying it was the satisfaction of knowing you were mine.
As the weather grew warmer, we spent more time at the beach, lounging around in the sand. I’d asked Xavier to buy us both swimsuits, and for you, a skimpy metallic blue Speedo that showed off your every muscular curve. You were an Adonis, with a physique that demanded attention. One of my simple pleasures was to coat your velvet skin with coconut oil and watch the sun slowly bake you into a beautiful shade of bronze.
Was it gratuitous of me to dress you like a dish and parade you before so many hungry eyes? I derived such a sense of power in knowing I could say one word, and you’d be on your knees before me. I didn’t abuse it, though. I tempered my lust and took my time getting acquainted with your every moan and sigh, with which sexual acts made you keen in ecstasy and your toes curl against Xavier’s soft sheets.
In short, I spoiled you rotten, and it was within my rights as your lover to do so.
One Saturday afternoon we’d just returned to the condo from a dip in the ocean. You were lolling around in what I’d come to consider our bed, wearing only your tight bathing suit and persuading me into another sexual encounter. Your libido was as strong as any man’s your age, but I was still advancing slowly. I wanted your skin to be well acquainted with my touch.
One of your arms was propped behind your head while the other hand rooted around in your skin-tight bathing suit for the treasure growing there. When you caught me watching—as if I could do anything else—you peeled back the elastic band and exposed your erection to tease me. I licked my lips and threw my beach towel on the tile floor.
“What do you want, Orlando?” I asked as your bright eyes gleamed with mischief. I knelt on the bed in front of you, my hands itching to caress the pretty package you were presenting. There were many more things we’d yet to do, and I hoped you’d ask for at least one of them.
Not ask. Beg.
“I want you to shave me, Henri.”
“Shave you?” I said with a smile. “Why would I do that?”
“Bruno says it makes your dick look bigger.”
I laughed. I could just imagine that conversation between the two of you. “Your genitals are an ample size already. In perfect proportion with the rest of you.”
“Henri, no one calls them that. It’s too clinical. I want you to say ‘dick.’”
I smiled at your ridiculousness. “Dick,” I said, though it felt a bit crass.
“Now say ‘cock.’”
“Cock,” I replied dutifully.
