“Alright.” He gets up again, this time taking his plate and mine.
“Let me help.” I follow him to the kitchen. “I’ll wash you dry? Or vice-versa. Washing, to me, is the worst part so I always offer to do it.”
“Such a sacrifice.” He smirks. “I’ll dry.”
We stand next to each other at the sink, bumping into each other a few times. His massive arms get in my way causing me to splash soapy water onto the floor. It makes me wonder what Christos was like on the ice; how hard he threw elbows, if he was an aggressive player like Terrence or more precise like Leroy.
I shake out my hands over the empty sink while he puts the dishes away. Then he sneaks up on me, leaning down and catching my lips. He’s fast, maybe he was more of a sniper, a quick shot. His mouth tastes of chocolate.
Our lips part. When I speak my lips brush against his. “Upstairs? Are you ready?”
He nods ever so slightly. “Yes. I got everything ready before you got here.”
I grab his hand, our palms still a tad moist from washing dishes. It’s not the most pleasant sensation, but I forget all about it once we’re upstairs and he kisses me again, this time pinning me to the wall. His body dwarfs mine, bending his back to reach my lips. I capture his bottom lip between my teeth and tug. Christos moans, his jaw relaxing so I can tilt my head back and drag my teeth across his lips.
“Desperate?” I grab the base of his horn, tugging so his neck is exposed. I press my face to his jugular. “Have you played with yourself since I was here?”
His throat bobs against my lips. “No,” he chokes.
“So, you’re still pent up from before…” I lick up his neck, his short white hairs bristling against my tongue. He moans some more, melting against my tongue like vanilla ice cream in the peak of summer. I stop at his jawline, the bottom slope of his ear ticking my nose.
“We’re still not in the bedroom.” I nibble at his ear. He responds with a sharp gasp. “You want me to fuck you right here? Make me clean up your mess?” I drop my voice to the faintest whisper, speaking right into his ear. “Daddy’s needy little whore.”
I eye between his legs, admiring the strain in his pants. “We’re going to walk to the bedroom. Once we’re in there, you’re going to undress quickly for me. I don’t want a show. Then you’ll undress me. Slowly.” I stroke the bottom of his ear. “And I get to do whatever I want to your body while you do it. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
That doesn’t give me the same thrill it did before. “I want you to call me Roderick now.”
“Yes, Roderick.”
We return to holding hands and I lead him to the bedroom. The moment we pass over the threshold, Christos strips himself. There’s a bottle of lube and several towels across the bed. He’s mentioned the mess more than once, but I haven’t actually put much thought intohowmuch mess. The concern is forgotten as soon as he is naked and on his knees before me.
His hands fly to my belt while I have his cock in my sights. I slip one leg forward, pressing the ball of my foot on his testicles. He strains, but his hands keep moving, drawing my belt from the loops of my jeans.
Instead of pulling my jeans down, he stands back up. He slipsmy hoodie off one shoulder at a time. He touches my exposed forearms like he’s studying the muscles there. Untill he leans in and drags his tongue across my bicep. Once he’s satisfied he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it from my body. He keeps my shirt balled in his hands as he returns to the floor.
“Do you expect to keep that?” I ask. My foot returns to his groin. “Something to keep you company while I’m gone? Something to stroke your pathetic cock with while you think of me?”
I extend my ankle to step on his balls. He pants, “Yes, Roderick.”
My ankle relaxes. He thanks me by wrapping his arms around my waist. His wide pink tongue slips out of his mouth, licking up from my happy trail, dipping and exploring into every crevice of muscle. A shiver runs down my spine, recalling that deftness around my cock.
He kisses my navel before finally fingering the button of my jeans. Denim slides down my legs, and I’m kicking myself for telling him to beslow. A single finger drips into the elastic of my briefs, tugging ineffectively, cotton clinging to my hard cock. I somehow maintain composure and resist the urge to tear off the last of my clothes and fuck him on the floor.
I take a deep breath, speaking on the exhale. “Lay on the bed for me. On your back.”
He keeps steady eye contact with me while he stands up, slow and deliberate. On the bed, he lays back with his hooves still touching the floor. I stand between his knees. His cock is flush with his stomach, the tip resting below his belly button.
“Such a fat cock.” I bring my erection to his, comparing our sizes. “Waytoo big. It’s honestly distracting.”
I rut my hips, a bit of friction to make him whimper. I do my best to wrap my hand around the both of us but I can’t quite get my fingers to touch.
“Which one of us has the better dick?”
He lifts his head enough to watch my hand work us both. “Y-you, Roderick.”
Oh?” I give us both a few strokes, rewarding his answer. “Tell me how you love this cock.”
