Page 89 of Unstitch

‘Fucking hilarious,’ I say, reluctantly backing away so I can grab the tea-towels hanging off the front of the oven. ‘This is what happens when Darcy leaves us to our own devices. We turn into animals.’

I wipe my cum off his front before turning him around and looking after his sticky arse. The mere sight of his taut cheeks and the shadow of his cleft has my dick twitching again. I swipe at it with the tea towel. ‘Move.’

His arse has left two nice wet imprints on the cabinet. I rub at them before wiping down the splatters further down and on the floor. Both surfaces are horribly smeared, but I couldn’t give a shit.

‘Come on,’ I tell him, sauntering past and grabbing our beers. ‘Shower.’

‘I’ll just grab a washcloth if that’s easier,’ he says, traipsing behind me.

‘Who said anything about washing?’ I ask over my shoulder.

His answering laugh is music to my ears.

So this is how it can be when he’s relaxed.

Half-empty beer bottles on the shower’s built-in shelf, and me, soaping Dex up, and him leaning against the tiles, surveying me openly, wantonly. Drinking me in. Eye-fucking me, even.

Time is on our side this evening. Darcy’s not due for another hour at least and, thanks to the lack of time we wasted in getting each other off, our shower can be leisurely.

‘What shall we do with her when she gets here?’ I ask him, glossing his delts with suds and musing on the probable cost of having someone’s likeness cast in bronze.

He pouts when he’s thinking.

I wonder if he knows that.

‘Mmm,’ he hums luxuriously, letting those golden eyes flicker closed as he considers. ‘Fuck her as many times as she’ll let us.’

I laugh at the insouciance of a thirty-year-old with all the rounds of ammo a man could need. ‘Good start. I need to work on her arse a bit more. I’ve started warming her up, but… I need to work on both your arses, to be honest. Seriously, if we’re going to do this properly, I need inside you both, as soon as possible.’

‘Put us both through buttcamp,’ he deadpans, and I laugh aloud, throwing my head back, because now that he’s done being an uptight little prick, he’s pretty fucking funny.

‘I’d be extremely careful what I joke about, if I were you,’ I say, reaching around him so I can run a couple of menacing fingers between his cheeks. He’s still lubed up with coconut oil back there.

‘I’m not actually joking,’ he says with a cocky little smirk that makes me want to wipe it right off.

‘Just be thankful I’m playing a long game here.’ I mean it lightly, but he jolts. Turns out, that’s enough for him to lose his smirk.

‘Does that freak you out?’ I ask him.

‘No.’ He whispers it. ‘I’d be freaking out a lot more if I thought this was a one-off.’

The very fact of his chest rising and falling with his breaths is a miracle to me. I need to get a grip. God, the idea of cutting him loose after this is unthinkable, that’s what it is. But we’ve come a long way this evening. Not everything that could be said should be said.

‘Your longevity,’ I say, swiping my thumb over the wetness of that lower lip that haunts me, ‘depends on how skilful your mouth is.’

I’ve thrown down the gauntlet.

We stare at each other, unblinking.

‘You know I’ll do anything,’ he says, ‘but…’

I frown. ‘But what?’

‘But I want you to make me do it,’ he whispers.

I’ve purposely gone easy on him, because come on. Nothing about his reactions to me before this evening has been straightforward. So it would be gratifying to be sure he wants all this without my pushing him. But I’ve been too lust-fogged to see the precious gift he’s handing to me.

The little beauty wants me to push him.

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