Chapter 13 #2
I decide after that he’s too far away, much too far away, basically continents and oceans as far as I’m concerned.
I should be up his ass. I squirm across the bed until I’m pressed up against him, wrapping him up in my arms and pulling him against me.
I kiss the back of his neck until he starts to wake up, too, pressing my lips to his tattoo.
“Morning, butterfly,” I whisper in his ear.
“Mmm.” He turns his face into mine, nudging me with his nose. “Hi.”
“We need to get up soon.”
“Ugh.” He covers his mouth as he yawns. “Right.”
“Ugh? Whaddya mean ugh?” I smack his ass over the sheet and he yips. “C’mon. Let’s get in the shower.”
“Together?”
“Of course together.”
“I don’t know if we’ll fit.”
“We’ll fit,” I say.
The bathroom, much like the rest of the hotel, is old. Antique. Quaint little basins and an equally quaint shower tub combo with clawfeet and a billowy curtain hanging from rings that goes all around. Admittedly, not the best set up to shower together. Or shower at all, actually.
“This is a nightmare,” Ash says as we step under the hot spray. “This sucks. This shower sucks.”
“It doesn’t suck, shut up. It’s nice. You like it.” I’m lying. It’s horrible. It’s the sort of thing rich people put in their houses without any regard to whether it’s practical or not. We’ve already slopped water all over the floor.
“I’m gonna slip and fall and die.”
“I’ll catch you.” I kiss his forehead. “Same if you have a seizure.”
“I’ve already banged my shin, look.”
“Aw. Some more bruises to match the rest you’ve got.”
He smiles. “Some of those are your fault.”
“Yeah, well. You’ve got a suckable neck.”
And to punctuate my point I kiss him there, too.
On the hickeys I left behind, two of them more prominent than the others, but at least they’re easily hidden by his hair.
He makes a soft sound as I do, tilting his head to the side, and, well, it’s not my fault when I snake an arm around his waist to pull him closer, or when my mouth moves from his throat to his lips.
Can’t get enough of him. Can’t. I just want more and more and more.
“Sam,” he murmurs. “We need to actually wash up.”
“Eh, don’t use logic on me. I’m not a fan.”
His bracelet jingles as he winds his arms around my neck, hypocrite that he is, and he makes no move to part himself from me. He’s kissing my cheek, my jaw, my ear, and when his teeth snag the lobe I breathe in sharply. My hands slide down to his wet, round ass.
“You have the best ass,” I tell him. “I wanna bend you over.”
His hips nudge mine. “You’re a menace. Let me wash my hair.”
His hard cock against my hip is telling me a very different story, but fine.
With the utmost reluctance I let him go and he squeezes around me to step under the shower head.
I watch him as he wets his hair, the water cascading down his sinewy back, over his ass, making rivulets down the back of his thighs.
He really is gorgeous. The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, maybe—guy or girl.
Just the way he’s put together, all fine-boned, bird-like almost, but not necessarily delicate.
Maybe more like a falcon. Sharp. Solid. Impossible to think that a few days ago I thought he was just some dirty homeless kid.
I take the tiny bottle of hotel shampoo out of his hands—this one smells like sandalwood—and before he can protest, I squirt it into my palm.
And then I lather it into his hair, thorough and deft but gentle, my fingertips massaging right into his scalp.
He practically goes boneless as I do and it makes me smile.
“You’re so damn nice,” Ash says faintly. His words are almost lost in in the sound of the spray.
“I like taking care of you, I guess.”
“Dunno why you would.”
“Doesn’t have to be a why, does there? It can just be a thing.”
I drop a quick kiss on his shoulder before I nudge him back under the water to rinse it all out, and he turns to face me as he does.
Droplets cling to his dark blonde lashes, those big baby blues staring up at me.
The white scar on his chin is a bit more noticeable now; he’s starting to get a little tan from all the time we’ve spent in the sun. I lower my head and kiss that, too.
Ash returns the favor, washing me up. He’s sort of shy about it. Maybe it’s because I’m watching him with utter adoration the whole time as he scrubs through my unruly mop of hair, or maybe it’s the way I keep palming his lovely wet body with the little bar of soap, imprinted with the hotel’s name.
I lather him up nice and slow and I get into every nook and cranny—not because I think he’s dirty, but because I like the excuse to touch him literally everywhere.
Chest, shoulders, the divot of his clavicle.
Around his nipples and down his ribs. Up along his flanks (and I’m careful around that scabby wound) and between the shoulder blades, and then down along his cute little butt. And in between the cheeks, too.
He says my name softly, breathily, hands flat against my chest as he nuzzles just beneath my jaw. My soapy hands come around his hips and between his legs, massaging one thigh and then the other in slow, tantalizing circles. It gets a needy whimper out of him.
His wet cock has plumped up already by the time my fingers close around it, and when I slide my thigh between his he glides against it, biting his lip, wet hair clinging to his face.
“Like that, baby?” I ask him. “Feel good?”
“Sam,” he breathes again.
And Jesus, I love the way he says my name.
In this shuddering, whispery way, like it’s a moan of its own kind, coupled with the way his head rolls back and his eyelids flutter.
Giving me all that long, soft throat that I want to just attack, but I know I have to leave it alone or he’s gonna start looking like a domestic abuse victim. And I don’t want that.
I want to make him feel good. I actually really like that part, I think.
His lips yield and part beneath mine when they meet again at last, and our tongues touch.
I groan very softly against his mouth, and my cock twitches to life where it’s pressed against his thigh.
Without thinking, I roll my hips against his and he makes this keening sort of sound, hands sliding up my wet shoulders.
I could grind on him like this until I finish; it really does feel so good.
Or…
“Turn around,” I tell him hoarsely.
“Wha—” Cutting him off mid-protest, I turn him around myself, and place his hands on the tile wall. He looks back at me as I nudge his legs wide. “Oh, Sam, water’s not good l—”
“Not gonna fuck you. Not yet, anyway. Not right now.”
“Oh.” He sounds almost disappointed.
But he won’t for long. I hope not, at least. I trail kisses down his back as I kneel behind him, hands stroking up along his inner thigh. There’s a long string of pre-cum hanging from the tip of his cock, I can see, between his legs.
“I’ve never done this before,” I murmur as I kiss the back of his leg. “So…”
“Wait,” he says, voice strained. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” I’m kissing my way up the back of his thigh, the curve of his ass, one hand gently spreading him open.
He’s got a cute hole, pink as his nipples, and it sort of flutters when I breathe on it.
It doesn’t seem like he shaves, but he’s remarkably devoid of hair back here regardless.
Or maybe it’s just so light I can’t see it. “Well?”
“I don’t…” He sighs as I kiss further into his crease. “No one’s ever…”
His first time too? Even better. Means there’s no one I’ve gotta measure up against. I spread him wider, the tip of my tongue circling him, and he inhales sharply.
I take that as a good thing and swipe my tongue across his hole and this time he gasps, arching, his hair cascading between his shoulder blades as his head falls back.
“Sam,” he moans as I lick all the way up his crease and back again, then lap across his hole with broad, slow strokes that he really seems to love. He’s trembling beneath my touch and grinding himself against the wall, looking anywhere for some friction.
My hand comes up between his legs and grasps his needy cock and boy, is he wet. He’s getting me excited; my dick’s heavy between my legs and I’m sort of rubbing myself between my thighs as I continue to eat him out, rubbing him slowly, thumb teasing his slit.
I nip one ass cheek. “Like that?” I ask him, and he answers me with a whimper, a desperate thrust of his hips. “You wanna come, butterfly?”
A shudder roils through him. “Please.”
“Aw.” I spread him again and flick my tongue against his hole, which sends him spasming against the tile wall again. “You’re so sexy like this, though. Needy. Begging.” I rub my face against him. “I could play with you all day.”
“Oh, god.” His palms smack the tile; he’s losing his grip, I think, sliding repeatedly. “Sam.”
“Fucking you would be so much fun like this,” I say.
“Take you standing against the wall.” I lick him again and he whines, bucking his hips into my hand as I jerk him faster.
“Or watch you on your knees, looking up at me. My big cock in your mouth while the water flows over you.” Oh, I do like that mental image. It’s a good one.
“Don’t stop,” he says breathily.
“You close?”
He nods rapidly and I set my whole mouth on him this time, licking and sucking at his hole like it’s a second mouth as it twitches and flutters beneath me.
He gasps, arches, and I feel his hot cum spill over my fist as I stroke him to a finish, and I stand just in time to catch him in my arms as he goes unsteady.
He turns, puts his hands on my wet chest, and watches as I very deliberately lick his cum from my fingers.
“Fuck,” is what he says. Breathes it, really.
I kiss him deep, tongue invading his mouth, and he accepts it eagerly. Tastes him on me without a second thought, a soft sound catching in his throat that makes me hot for him all over again. God, I really do want to fuck him against the wall.
“Okay,” I tell him when we break away. “Enough fucking around. We’ve got a cruise to catch.”
“What about—”
“Later,” I say. “Good things come to those who wait, right?”