Chapter 9 #2
He takes me deeper into his throat, and swallows around my cock. I lose it. My hands glide to each side of his pretty face, the strands of his hair like silk against my fingers. I do what he wanted. I fuck his mouth, and take what he offers, greedily.
My whole body tenses as I come down his throat.
He swallows, then laps at the head of my oversensitive cock, not letting go until I have to pull him up.
I slant my mouth to his, tasting my release on his tongue and groaning into his mouth.
Tucking myself back in with one hand, I reverse our positions and plaster my chest to his.
I need the contact. I need to know he enjoyed himself, that I didn’t hurt him. I’d never forgive myself if I did.
My pants are still open so it’s easy for Julian to slide a hand inside, rubbing against the fabric of my boxers. I may have just come, but with his tongue inside my mouth and his body against mine, it’d take him no time to convince me for a repeat.
I grab his wrist. “As much as I loved it, the next time you take my cock in your mouth will be when we’re back in my bedroom, and I can return the favour.”
He pouts, and it ignites my whole body. Julian hates waiting. And I love to make him wait. Him begging for release that still won’t come is one of my favourite versions of my boyfriend. The word ‘please’ on his lips is my ecstasy.
I kiss his jaw, lessening his disappointment, and pull him to the dance-floor, our drinks abandoned somewhere, already forgotten. His lashes close as he dances against me, and let me hold him to my chest.
Saturdays are for loving the man who’s stolen my heart.
He goes for the bar and I hold his hand, pulling until he crashes against me again. “No alcohol, pup. I need you sober tonight.”
His grin is blinding and his kiss even sloppier, messier, hornier. We forget about the drinks, about why I even landed here in the first place and lose ourselves to the music, until it’s time to drive back to the Moretti mansion.
“Goodnight,” Lana sing-songs before giggling when we reach the door to her bedroom.
Julian didn’t even pretend to go to his room on the East wing of the house, and our hands are woven together.
We probably look like we’re about to be up to no good.
Though that’s how the saying goes because as far as I’m concerned, if Julian Bartoli is in my bed, all is right in this fucked up world.
He enters ahead of me, then turns to face me when he’s in the middle of the room.
I light up a small lamp on the chest of drawers by my door.
Moonlight looks great on his fair skin and blond hair, but the yellow light gives me a better view.
If it wouldn’t alert the rest of the household that we’re still not asleep at three in the morning, I would have all the lights on just so I can see pleasure contort his face when I suck his soul out of his body.
“Where do you want me?” he asks, face flushed and smiling bashfully.
I shake my head. My lips tip up at his antics.
Every Saturday, he says the same words to me.
It’s become an encouragement for me to lean into dominating him.
There’s not much I control in my life. I never needed to vocalise it for him to understand.
And this thing between us? I have no control over it either, except how I touch him, and how he touches me.
“Don’t move.”
I prowl to him, and take my time to circle him. My gaze roams over the flat plane of his stomach, where the crop top gives me a perfect view of abs and a happy trail of blond hair leading to a mouth-watering V-line.
“Are you hard for me, pup?”
He nods excitedly. He’s eager. That could bring me to my knees.
I fell for Julian’s kindness, his nerdy tastes in literature, the way he moves and asks questions before I knew what love was.
Now, having him trembling in front of me, anticipation coursing through his system like a drug, it’s the best feeling.
Because I affect him. If not on an emotional level—we never mentioned feelings to each other—at least physically, he’s mine.
“Tell me,” I prompt.
“I’m so hard that the friction of my jeans against my cock every time I shift my weight has me ready to blow. Fuck, it’s embarrassing how much I want you.”
I step in front of him. The glow of the lamp gives his eyes an oceanic colour. The long lashes frame them so perfectly I’d spend hours counting them.
“Take off your shirt.”
He swings his arms up and removes it in seconds, throwing it to the side.
I laugh, the sound so strange between us that even Julian looks at me like I’m losing my mind.
And I am. There’s nothing more powerful than having him exactly where I want him, letting me tell him what to do just to please me.
And knowing he’s enjoying every second of it.
I raise my hands to his throat, let them wander to his chest and sides and back, using my nails to scratch his stomach. Julian hisses and tenses. He licks his lips and I do it again. He tries so hard not to whimper, but it’s too late. I heard it. Fire spreads through me like a blaze.
I push against his torso and step forward until the back of his knees hit the bed. I fall on his lips in a kiss that shatters me, starving for a taste of him. He holds me to his mouth with both hands.
I taste the salty sheen of his sweat on his throat as I lick a path up to his ear, getting high on how good he feels against my tongue. His pulse flutters against it and I groan, biting and sucking. It’ll leave a mark. My mark.
“Fuck, Igor.”
The way he says my name. God, I’d give all I have just to hear it again and again. I drop to my knees, looking up to see him poised on his elbows, looking at me with a vulnerable expression I know means uncertainty.
“Let me,” I beg.
He nods, and raises his hips so I can take his jeans and boxers off. They meet his crop top in a pile on the floor.
“You’re gorgeous.”
“I’m going to embarrass myself,” he murmurs.
“Jules. I don’t care if you come on my face right now. We have all night.” I look at the clock then back at him with a smile. “Well, we have hours.”
His head hits the mattress with a soft thud. He clenches his fists around the sheets, and I haven’t even started.
My hands grip his strong thighs and I move them up from his knees and then back down, massaging the tension away. That simple touch makes him melt, a soft sigh on his lips the perfect soundtrack to my next move.
I stare at his dick. It’s not the first time.
It’s so fucking gorgeous.
It’s proportionate to his body, less thick than mine but mouth-watering nonetheless. Tentatively, I lick the underside from root to base. Julian moans and wiggles. I pin him down with my hands on both hips and continue my exploration.
I won’t be rushed into this.
He’s a work of art, completely naked for me while I’m fully clothed.
The tip leaks pre-cum, waiting for me to drink him down.
I gather the drop on the top of my tongue and moan at his salty taste.
“Fuck, you taste good, pup.”
I take him into my hand like he did for me in the club. I know the weight of his cock almost as well as I know my own with how many times we’ve jerked each other off. Julian is insatiable and I’m incapable of saying no to him. My body isn’t my own when he enters my orbit.
Pumping shallowly, I create a rhythm, soft and slow, and drive Julian mad. His whimpers grow louder.
“Keep it down, pup, or I’ll gag you.”
His eyes light up with heat and a sly smile graces his face. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
I raise an eyebrow and lick him again. This time, he bites his lips together and presses a fist to his mouth. I slowly take him into my mouth, sucking on the tip before I go down.
“Oh, shit. I’m coming.”
His surrender tastes almost as good as his cum when it hits the back of my throat. I swallow him down like he’s the best I’ve ever had. He’s the only one I’ll ever have, of that I’m sure.
I’m not having nearly enough of him, but he said this would happen and knowing how it feels to be on the receiving end now, I understand why. I can’t wait to get him hard again and continue.
I drop my head to his thigh and look up at him while he recovers. He pants, then chuckles. When he sits up, his cheeks have that pink tint I find so fascinating.
“Sorry,” he says, then clears his throat.
I surge up to my knees and pull him down for a kiss.
Driven with something more than just pure lust, Julian tears my shirt open, and fumbles to open my jeans and drag my boxers down with it. I can’t stop kissing him, clothes thrown everywhere in a mess.
I press him back down and straddle him, our cocks pressed together in between our bodies. We sigh in tandem in each other’s mouths. I pull on his lower lip with my teeth, feeling more like beast than man.
Propping myself on one arm, I hold out my hand under his mouth. He spits in it, eyes dark like a storm, almost as thunderous as the one raging in my veins. I gather our cocks together in my fist and start thrusting against him, and into my wet hand. The pressure is just shy of perfect.
“Give me a hand, pup, and make us both come.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
One of his hands joins mine while the other clutch the back of my skull. Our foreheads drop together while we breathe the same air. Our breathing turns ragged and choppy as we pump ourselves up and down. The feel of his skin against mine is almost too much.
But it’s his eyes that keep me captive. Always the baby blues. So expressive, and right now, I don’t need him to tell me he loves me, the silver lining his irises is enough.
“Igor.”
“I know, malysh.”
I keep going, heart racing, panting. Sweat gathers at the base of my neck where Julian touches me.
“Please,” he begs.
“I’m right there with you. Come with me.”
He nods, frantic. His eyes scrunches when he comes with a long moan, and I follow, coating our hands and stomachs with our release. I don’t stop until we’re both spent.
The only thing breaking the silence is our breaths mingling in the aftermath of ebbing pleasure. Until it returns to normal and silence grows with words unsaid. It’s too early. We’re too young. And I’m not a permanent feature in Julian Bartoli’s life.
“Don’t,” Julian demands when I move away.
“I’m just gonna clean up.”
His hand caresses my jaw as he slides it from the back of my neck to my cheek and lifts my chin up. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Okay.” I try to find the words. I’m always so stupid in English. When I think in Russian, I’m smart and eloquent. But when it comes to saying the words in a language he understands, everything jumbles up together in my head. “I… I have feelings. Strong feelings.”
His kiss is feather light. A longing so strong hits me in the gut with the softness of his touch.
“I have strong feelings, too.”
“For me?”
“Yes, baby. I have strong feelings for you. You make me feel brave.”
“You’re already brave.”
“I’m really not. But for you, I want to be.”
When we’re showered and the sun starts to rise on the horizon, I hold him to me like he’s a lifeline. His rhythmic breathing almost puts me to sleep. But I can’t shake the anxiety of losing him.