Page 69 of The Forbidden Summer
I lift my head, catching the glint of heat in his eyes. His hand brushes my jaw, thumb dragging slowly across my bottom lip like he’s already imagining more. The suggestion in his voice short-circuits my brain and leaves me aching in ways I can’t even explain.
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah,” I breathe, voice rough around the edges.
Père pushes up first, offering me his hand. I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. Our bodies brush as we move, bare skin on bare skin, and every nerve ending I have lights up like a live wire.
The bathroom is dim, just the faint golden spill from the hallway lamp. He twists the faucet, and the old pipes rattle before warm water spills from the shower head. Steam blooms around us, clinging to the mirror, the walls, our skin.
I step in first, the spray hitting my back in a rush that makes me gasp. Père follows, crowding me against the cool tile, his hands finding my hips, his mouth finding mine. Water streams down between us, slipping over our bodies, making every kiss, every touch, feel hotter, slicker, more desperate.
His hands roam like he’s relearning me, mapping every scar, every freckle, every shiver. My head tips back against the wall as he trails his mouth down my throat, his stubble scraping gently across my skin, making me shudder.
His fingers lace with mine, pinning my hands above my head. He presses his forehead to mine, breathing hard, water dripping from his lashes.
“This isn’t a dream, right?” he murmurs, voice wrecked and beautiful.
I shake my head, pulling him closer until there’s not a breath of air between us. “Feels real enough to me.”
Père grasps the bar of soap and glides it down my back, making me shiver from his touch. He presses kisses to my shoulders before trailing the bar after them. Soapy bubbles slip down my chest and I slide my palms over my pecs, teasing my nipples into hard points. Père groans like I’m torturing him by touching myself.
He continues to wash me, dipping the bar past my navel, down to the dark blond curls circling the base of my cock. Working in circular motions, he makes a sudsy froth, drops the bar, and uses his hand to spread the bubbles down my aching shaft.
“Ungh,” I moan, pushing into his grip.
His calloused hand works my dick over, back and forth, until I’m shamelessly humping his grip. Fire spreads through my blood, thinning it, making it rush quicker through my veins. It whooshes in my ears, drowning out Père’s heavy breaths.
The steam, his touch, his kisses—I’m lightheaded with pleasure, falling into him.
Water slicks our skin, making every glide of his palms feel endless, electric. I arch into him without thinking, greedy for more, for all of him.
He laughs softly against my mouth, this low, breathless sound that vibrates through me. Not teasing, but worshipful. Like he can't believe I'm here, real and wanting him just as desperately.
He curls his fingers into my hip, anchoring me, steadying me when the heat and need threaten to sweep me away. His other hand slides up my spine, pulling me flush against him. Chest to chest. Heart to heart.
Hard cock to hard cock.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs between kisses, “how much I missed you.”
I whimper something that might be his name, or might just be a broken sound, and clutch his shoulders to keep from sinking to the floor.
Steam swirls around us, water pelting down, but all I can feel is him—his strength, his tenderness, the way his mouth moves over mine.
I kiss him harder, pouring all the words I don't know how to say into it. Stay. Love me. Don't ever let go.
He answers without speaking, pressing me back against the cool tile, his mouth claiming mine in slow, devastating kisses. His hips press forward, and a gasp escapes me, swallowed by his mouth. A low growl rumbles in his chest, and it undoes me completely.
Desperately, I grab for his dick, needing to feel the weight of it in my hand, the realness. Thick and solid, smooth and hot. I want it in my mouth, in my ass. Everywhere, invading, stretching, claiming me forever.
Shaping my body to fit his like it was made just for him.
“Can I?” I ask shyly, dropping my gaze to his dick.
“I won’t stop you.”
His eyes widen as he watches me drop to my knees. The cold tile bites into my skin, but I barely feel it. Taking him in hand, I stare at his cock, thick and veined, a dense bush of dark curls, peppered with gray. He’s such a man. So mature and virile. Every inch of him is my wildest fantasy come true.
His hand cups the back of my neck, firm and grounding, guiding my head. Teaching me how to use my mouth to please him.
“No teeth, baby. Cover them with your lips.” His fingers cardthrough my wet hair gently. His touch is patient, reverent, like he’s savoring me, memorizing me. “Hollow your cheeks and suck harder.”
