Page 67 of Felix

I nod as my heart pounds.

Christian grabs my shampoo. “Okay if I use this?”

I nod again, and a blurry but stunning Christian proceeds to wash his hair in front of me. I squint as best I can, trying to make out the details of his face and body, but they’re lost to me for now. Christian’s chuckle lets me know I’ve been caught.

“Do you ever wear contacts?” he asks.

“No. I tried them once, but I didn’t like how they felt.”

He hums. “The glasses suit you.”

“You think so?”

“I do,” he says, his arms in the air as he rinses the shampoo out of his hair. He lathers his body next. “They just fit you, you know? You’re my Specs.”

Oof.

“I think you might be bad for my heart,” I say. Aloud.

“What?” Christian asks around a laugh.

I step closer, pulling his wet body against mine. “When we’re on that bed, I want you to finger me open.”

Christian’s cock bucks against my hip.

“I want you to do it slowly,” I say, “until I’m all but begging for your cock. I want you to take your time, make me incoherent, and only once I threaten bodily harm do I want you to fuck me into that mattress. You’re going to do it hard, and you’re going to do it fast, because I’ll be too keyed up to tolerate anything else. You’re going to show them, Christian. You’ll show them who I belong to.”

Christian’s hand snakes into my hair, a shaky breath leaving his lungs as he pulls my head back gently. “Fuck, Specs. I think I’m infatuated with you.”

I run my hands up the sides of his slender waist. “The feeling is entirely mutual.”

He reaches over, shutting off the water. “Let’s go.”

After getting dressed, Christian stands in front of a mirror and blow-dries his hair. It doesn’t take long. He adds a touch of product after that gives it an effortlessly tousled look, and then he turns his sights on me. I let Christian dry my hair, too, sitting on the bench seat in front of the mirrors, my fingers tracing over the grooves of Christian’s hips and the dainty jeweled bar in his navel. When I lean forward to press my lips to the bulge in his pants, the blow-dryer turns off.

The next twenty minutes are a blur of scene setup and anticipation that thrums heavily through my veins. My head has already shut off, cognition having given way to baser wants, but I trust Christian to watch over me, my ever-present sentinel. My voyeur turned protector.

When I hear Christian addressing me, I snap back to consciousness, as if awaking from a dream. I realize we’re already filming.

“Come on, Fe. I need my hands on you.”

Not about to argue, I let Christian push me onto my back. He tugs off my pants and underwear, then my shirt, and rolls me to my stomach. I go like putty, his to command.

“Gorgeous,” he mutters, the word for our viewers but also for me.

I lift my ass higher, getting up on my knees, and Christian’s finger, cool and wet, circles my rim. He presses it inside of me, and I moan.

“Look at you, Fe,” he praises, sliding that finger in and out, using a come hither motion that stretches me with every pass. “Your ass was made to be cherished. To be spread open and worshiped. You’re a sight, and I get to show you off.”

I nod frantically, breath hitching. “Please. More.”

He presses in with two fingers, his other hand traveling along my taint. When he moves his hands in tandem, as if trying to bring the fingers of both hands together, I damn near shoot out of my skin.

“Oh fuck, fuck.”

Christian chuckles, a dark yet warm sound. He continues to stroke me in the same way, the added pressure on my prostate making me concerned I might not last long enough for Christian to fuck me. But he gentles the motions before long, his hand on my taint running up over my ass cheek. His fingers continue fucking me leisurely.

“I like seeing you like this,” he says.

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