20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
I’d never awoken to the warm press of a man at my side.
It was the stuff of dreams especially when the man was groggy with sleep yet undulating against my stiff dick like a she-cat in heat.
“Perhaps just once more?” Claude asked in a rough, sensual, sleepy way as he arched like that horny cat to press his ass into my cock.
“You sure?” I thrust into the crack of his ass, one hand giving his pec a squeeze. “You’ll be sore I think.” We’d never left his bed yesterday. We’d slept, fucked, slept, sucked each other off in the shower, and then slept some more.
“It will be fine. I need you,” he replied breathlessly so I gave my lover – my lover!
– what he asked for. After a small delay in trying to locate the lube we came together in the light of an early sunrise, him on his side, leg bent, me taking him from behind.
We moved as one, a lot of the awkwardness I’d felt yesterday gone as I rocked into hot tight perfection.
Claude was a vocal bottom even when trying to be quiet.
With his face in a fat pillow his moans were surely heard by whatever staff might be milling around.
His cry when he came in my hand was probably heard back in Paris.
I buried my face into the back of his neck when I blew apart, biting back a yelp of pleasure.
I was used to being quiet when I jerked off back home.
“God, God, ah God le paradis,” he huffed as his channel milked me dry. “Kinder, sweet love, your cock is divine.”
“Your asshole is worthy of psalms,” I countered as I eased out of him leaving a trail of cum along his little ass which I rubbed into his skin.
He chuckled sleepily. I gave his arm a kiss before slipping from the bed to locate something other than the already filthy bedding to clean him up with.
Finding nothing other than my clothes from yesterday I hurried into the master bath to grab a hand towel then wet it well.
Claude was splayed out on the bed, his skin pink from exertion, his backside bare.
I longed to nibble his ass but left it be. For now.
“Such a considerate lover,” he purred when I washed our lovemaking from between his cheeks and then gently cleansed his balls. “Come, sleep more.”
He reached back awkwardly. I dropped the towel to the carpet, slid under the duvet, and pulled him close.
Sleep arrived in no time carrying me along for a few hours until my bladder woke up.
Claude didn’t stir when I eased away from him so I left him to rest, checking the time on my phone as I rushed to the toilet.
Nine in the morning already. I chucked my phone back on the nightstand.
I showered yet again, shampooed with a shampoo that probably cost more than a Buick, and dressed in yesterday’s clothes as my suitcase was in the foyer. Claude snored softly.
I snuck from his room then tripped over my bag sitting right outside his door. Catching myself on the doorframe my face flamed. Someone had obviously brought my bag up the steps probably hearing us fucking like rabbits behind the door.
Cheeks hot I yanked the bag into the bedroom, found some clean clothes – a hoodie I’d made out of old flannel blankets, distressed jeans, and tartan socks.
High tops on my feet, my dad’s hat on my head I exited Claude’s bedroom then gingerly made my way downstairs the smell of coffee leading me through the mansion.
Coming around a corner by a large sunroom I bounced off a short, stout woman with dark hair in a bun, her round form clad in a soft brown bib apron over a white short-sleeved cotton shirt paired with a dark brown skirt. She was an older woman with startled brown eyes.
“Oh! Sorry. Sorry, so sorry. I’m uhm…the kitchen.” I patted myself down for my phone but I’d left it on the nightstand in Claude’s room. “Shit. My phone, uhm, no translator app. Okay, uhm, let me think. Okay, le café une odeur uhm de vulve.”
Her eyes flared even wider.
“Shit,” I mused at the look of distaste she was giving me.
A small laugh along with the clatter of dog nails on tile floated by. Jon strolled up with a thin dog leash in his hands. Pamplemousse gave me a greeting bark before tearing up the stairs like a greyhound.
“She’s shocked that you think her coffee smells like a vulva,” Jon informed me, looking very relaxed in a polo shirt, slim chinos, a blue suede jacket, and minimalist sneakers.
“What?!” I squeaked. “I no… that’s…Ma’am no, I did…I’ve never smelled a vulva. I’ve never even seen one up close. I’m gay. So gay. I …the coffee smells very…vulve. Very? No?”
“No,” Jon tittered then set into explaining things to the woman.
She smiled after a moment then waved a hand to the room to the left before entering it herself.
“I told her you were a new friend of Claude’s, that you were American and spoke French very poorly but wished to compliment her on the coffee. ”
“Thanks. I left my phone upstairs…” I weakly offered, following Jon into the huge kitchen and the delicious smelling coffee being brewed as we spoke. The cook giggled softly as I blushed yet again then handed me a huge bowl with no handles. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
She bobbed her head.
“This is Madame Bouchard. She is the cook and housekeeper here when Claude is in residence.”
I smiled at her then at the café au lait in my hand. She and Jon had a quick conversation before he directed me out the French doors to a beautiful patio with a view of a large home in the distance, a pond, and a pasture with several horses enjoying a morning graze.
“Breakfast is being prepared. Sit,” Jon said, nodding at one of four wrought iron chairs at a round table already set for two.
Freshly picked flowers rested in a vase that twinkled in the sun as it peeked over the top of a vast stable complete with the required cupola and running horse wind vane.
There was a plate of baked goods set out amid cloth napkins rolled tightly around silverware.
Pitchers of different kinds of juices, small juice glasses, and small white plates sat on a dark blue table covering.
“Have a croissant while you wait for Claude. That’s what the large cup is for, dipping your pastry. ”
“Oh cool,” I picked one with chocolate chips. “Aren’t you sitting?”
“No, I’m leaving for Paris with all haste.
I’ve been out here for centuries consoling that man with no cigarettes allowed,” he waved a slim hand at the second story of the house, “while my own lover pouts. Now that you’re here he will no longer need me to tend to him so I’m taking a few days at home.
I left him a message on his phone not that he’ll care if I’m here or not now that you’ve returned to him.
He really was most bereft. Please, if you are not staying with him let me know now so I can walk out into the pond and drown myself. ”
Were all Frenchmen so dramatic or just the gay ones?
“No, I plan to…well, I don’t know what my plans are but whatever they are they include him. I love him.”
“Thank the baby Jesus!” He phone pinged in his pocket. “Ah! That will be my ride. Enjoy yourselves. Au revoir!”
Before I could dip my croissant Jon was gone. The sounds of a peaceful French countryside enveloped me now that I was alone. I sat up to avoid dribbling coffee on myself and ate the whole croissant as I watched a couple large white birds paddling about on the pond.
A few moments passed with serenity as my companion before a tiny dog rocketed past me to make a few laps on the lawn. Claude’s arms circled my shoulders from behind, his soft beard tickling my ear when he gave my cheek a kiss.
“Bonjour, mon amour,” he said before releasing me to sit down beside me.
He was freshly showered, his hair still damp, and his eyes sparkling.
He’d pulled on a soft sweater of pale blue, sleek dark slacks, and a pair of fashionable loafers.
He dropped down on the hard metal seat, winced, and lifted his ass up to grab an extra cushion.
“You’re in pain,” I said, feeling shitty for fucking him so often in such a short amount of time.
“It’s nothing. A sweet pain born of passion and love.” He gently got his rump situated. “I think I will not be riding horses today though.”
I snickered into my coffee while he gave me a naughty wink. Madame Bouchard arrived with a smile and a platter of tartines which she lay between us. She and Claude chatted for a moment as I perused the open-faced sandwiches.
“Madame wishes me to ensure you that the smell of the hardboiled egg is strong but not vulva strong?” Claude seemed totally perplexed. I turned beet red. Madame giggled into her hand before disappearing back into the manse. “Dare I ask?”
“Americans with no translator app trying to speak French,” I sighed and got a warm chuckle from my lover. “You feeling well other than your tender ass?”
“Marvelous. A robust lover in a man’s bed is a boon to not only his ego but his happiness.” He reached out to take my hand, hazel gaze grabbing mine. “I wish to tell you this in the light of day so you do not think it was said in the dark due to a stiff cock. I do love you, Kinder.”
I smiled softly then gave his fingers a squeeze. “And I love you. Eat, the egg and avocado one looks amazing. I might have one next.”
I dove into my tartine, lifting the thick slab of toasted French bread covered with goat cheese, warm honey, figs, and some walnuts to my mouth to rip a chunk off and chew.
It was the best goat cheese and fig breakfast toast I’d ever had.
True, it was the only goat cheese and fig breakfast toast I’d ever had but still…
“How are you?” he asked as he cut into a tartine with avocado and hardboiled egg with his knife and fork. Madame arrived with a coffee set including cream, sugar, and a French press she sat on the left of Claude before removing herself from the patio.
“I feel amazing,” I replied around a mouthful of food.