Page 64 of Vine

He rolled his tired eyes at that and leaned up on tiptoe to peck my cheek, which made me feel like the inside of my stomach was being tickled. “I want to cook for you. It will take my mind off, you know… It will take away the stresses of the day, which are giving me a particular urge right now that I really don’t want to give in to. I’ll grab a quick shower first.”

Now my belly was tickled in a different way altogether. “Will you be all right in there.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Yes, Max. I’ll be fine.”

While Caspian showered, I sat in my favourite armchair playing with my penis. Picturing his lean body slick with soapy water, I wished I hadn’t made the stupid rule about bathrooms being private. I was so engrossed in a rather delicious fantasy where I sneaked into the cubicle behind him and penetrated him against the tiles, he managed to sneak up on me, still with my hand stuffed inside my jeans. Again. Covered in only a pair of his tiny little briefs, his dick and balls were wrapped up for me likea gift, right in my eyeline. One of my towels was nestled around his bare shoulders.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he murmured with a grin, and ran a finger along the waistband of his underwear like it needed adjusting. It didn’t.

He looked revived, not that my eyes stayed much on his face. I grunted as he yawned and stretched, pushing his arms up into the air above his head and puffing his skinny chest out front and his round little arse out back. “Warm tonight, isn’t it?” He flapped the towel around. “I don’t think I’ll bother dressing just yet. I’ll air dry.”

I grunted again, conveying my gracious acceptance. Given that he’d saiddon’t let me interrupt,my hand stayed where it was, yet even I knew wanking in front of someone during a non-sexual encounter was a hidden social violation.

But I really needed to move my hand. Not out of my trousers, just up and down a bit.

“What are you cooking for me?”

Already he’d turned his back, removing wrapped packages from the shopping bags. I gave myself a furtive pull.

“Something special,” he said, with a quick glance over his shoulder. “I thought about texting and finding out what you liked, and then I decided that a beautiful big strong boy like you, working those hunky muscles all day, would appreciate a solid piece of meat.”

Another glance accompanied by a quick smirk. Putain, it was like we were playing that game of musical statues at kid’s parties; you danced and then had to suddenly stand still when the music stopped. Which I was rubbish at, obviously.

“Big strongman,” I corrected, which made him glance over his shoulder again with another bloody smirk. I shifted uncomfortably.

“And so I’m making you steak au poivre, which I’ll be serving with sautéed mushrooms, grilled asparagus, and garlic mashed potatoes. For dessert, a simple chocolate soufflé with a raspberry coulis. And rosé, or beer if you’re not a wine drinker.”

I gave myself another quick squeeze. Mon dieu, I needed to put this erection somewhere.And those bum cheeks, wiggling around under that scrap of stretched white cotton, were a special meal in themselves. By now, both my penis and my mouth were dribbling. “I can do wine,” I answered, with a pout. “Éti’s taught me some wines. I know the difference between my Chablis and Prieur Montrachets.”

Chuckling, he waved a bottle around before putting it in the fridge. “Prieur Montrachet? You might have to… um… drop your standards somewhat. This one was seven euros in Leclerc. On special offer.”

He drizzled some oil in a pan, rather ostentatiously in my opinion, then bent over his chopping, thank fuck. Giving me an opportunity to readjust. “I found such a nice piece of meat,” he stated, as if I’d asked. “Size and thickness is so important. Girthy, but not too girthy so you can’t get your lips around each mouthful.”

My groan was muffled by him rummaging around in a drawer. “When I worked in that restaurant in Paris, I learned that preparation is crucial. You need to prepare it just right, so when it hits your tongue, the juices fall from it.”

I didn’t own a meat tenderiser; he improvised with a rolling pin. One hip cocked, his cute little biceps bulged and relaxed, bulged and relaxed and—oh, fuck. It was almost like he knew how turned on I was.

“The head chef taught me the importance of a firm hand.” He flipped the meat over and reached for some herbs—could have been pig shit for all I cared. “To tenderize the raw flesh, so that when you swallow it down, you’re left with a delicious,moist sensation. Honestly, Max, the steaks he made were some of the…”

“Stop! Don’t cook them yet! We’re having sex right now.” I was behind him, trousers and pants around my ankles, yanking down his silly little briefs and pushing myself up against his arse. Gripping the work surface, he tipped his head back to make room so I could devour his neck. His soft whimper slayed me.

“Oh fuck,” I moaned as one of my fat fingers, wet with my own juices, found his tight little hole. Not wet enough; I spat on it. “Spread wider. Lean forward. Yeah, like that, that’s… mon dieu. Yeah, exactly like that. Can you take me like that?”

He moaned a nod and arched back, bracing against the worktop. I was making it up as I went along, but it felt right. Holding my cock, I rubbed it against his hole and gave it a little nudge, then split his cheeks apart with my other hand.

Mon dieu, in those first few seconds of pushing through, there was nowhere else in the world me or my penis would rather be.He was a fist lined with velvet. It was so cramped in there, so snug, so… ugh.

Caspian gasped, long and low, the kind of urging gasp that wanted more not less, and also the kind of urging gasp that made me want to…ugh.

“This is so good, Caspian,” I panted. “I want to… I want to…”

I pulled out a little bit on a groan, then thrust back in, feeling like I might explode if I went up to the hilt. But, given the way my slippery wet penis looked disappearing into his hole, I wanted to do it anyway.

“You good?” I checked. I was transfixed by the view, even if it was bringing me to the edge. If he hadn’t gasped a yes, then I don’t know what I’d have done, because stopping wouldn’t have been possible.

Everything else in my life fell to the wayside as I gripped Caspian by those pale narrow hips and railed him up againstmy kitchen worktop. With every thrust up and every withdrawal, with every gasp dropping from Caspian’s lips and every grunt rasping from mine, I was only there, so present. So fucking into it, so fucking into him, and Caspian was so fucking into me, pushing back, riding me like I was riding him. I watched myself pumping into him, splitting those two perfect round globes of his arse as if a line was scored right down the middle. As if they weren’t arse cheeks at all but two halves of a peach, a juicy, plumptious, ripe and perfect…peach.

Putain. I’d only read the book fifty fucking times.

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