Page 113 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
Henry’s breeches were undone, slipped down and pulled free, and Léon was on top of him, kissing him, rifling through his top for the butter.
He wasn’t going to…
Henry swallowed. He’d never done it that way. And Léon didn’t even ask. It hadn’t occurred to him that everything wouldn’t be perfectly reciprocal. Sex was as natural to him as breathing, no boundaries, and Henry didn’t think he’d ever feel that thrill of a first time again, but there it was. That uncertainty, that slight edge of fear, all but drowned out by desire.
Léon’s deliciously buttery fingers move straight towards his hole, and would he know what to—Yes!Yes, Léon knew exactly what he was doing. He stroked Henry’s cock, and he traced around his rim, and Henry thought he should probably say, “I’ve never done this before.”
Léon’s gloriously pretty mouth fell open, but his hands never stopped and his eyes only sparked. “I’m your first?”
No offer to stop and switch, then. “You’re my fir-ohhh.” Léon’s lips wrapped around his dick, and Henry’s head droppedback. But as that finger circled his entrance more insistently, Henry shifted back a little. “Listen, um. The butter is a lot of fun, but we might need to use…” Léon’s brow furrowed adorably as Henry leaned over to his bedside table and pulled out a bottle ofhuile de cachalot. Léon couldn’t read the label when Henry handed it to him, but his disappointment said it all.
Henry grabbed his chin and pulled him close for a kiss. “Can we use that? Tonight? I’m… I want to. But… I’m nervous.”
Léon cocked his head to the side, then a slow, sly smile lit his face. He unscrewed the lid and coated his long fingers plentifully. “That’s good to know,” said Léon, hot tongue licking pre-cum and butter from the tip of Henry’s dick, “but I’m not going to go easy on you.” His finger circled Henry’s entrance once again, while his other hand worked Henry’s cock, his mouth chasing the delicious taste of butter with each movement, until he slid the first finger in.
Too stunned to say another word, Henry rocked against him as he curled his finger against Henry’s sweet spot, just as Henry had done for him. Léon’s eyes flashed desire, but also… control. A control Léon loved to have, for the first time, taking complete ownership of the scene and the sex, and of Henry.
The second finger made Henry gasp. Léon scissored them, stretching him, always working his cock, moaning with pleasure when Henry hadn’t even touched him, and Henry was a wreck. He was at Léon’s mercy, and he liked it there. He tried to manoeuvre Léon, to give back all the pleasure he was getting, But Léon denied him, holding him firmly in place with his wet mouth and his perfect fingers and the pure seduction that made up every inch of him, until finally he rasped, “I can’t wait, Henri. I need to fuck you.”
It was all Léon could do to get his breeches down. He took a handful of oil, slathered his dick, and pressed it, golden, to Henry’s waiting entrance, then pushed in.
“Oh, fuck!” Henry cried, and Léon slapped a hand over his mouth to quiet him.
He leaned down, threading fingers through Henry’s hair, pulling out a little, then slowly sliding back in. “Do you want me to stop?”
Henry, unable to make a sound, shook his head.
On a shuddering breath, “Thank god.” He curled a hand around Henry’s shoulder and pushed deeper. The other hand was on Henry’s dick again, stroking, and he pressed his thighs into the back of Henry’s, opening him wide. “You feel amazing.”
“You’re beautiful, Ange,” Henry whispered. He curled arms around Léon’s neck to pull him close, inviting him. His legs wrapped around his flanks, and his fingers sliced into Léon’s skin when Léon took the liberty of sinking further.
“Does it hurt?”
Henry’s hands grabbed Léon’s ass in answer, forcing him in. “I want you.” He kissed him. “All of you. Every inch. Every night.”
Léon pulled back, then thrust deeper again, kissing him all the while. “And every morning.”
Henry arched against him, pressing his cock where he needed him. “You’re going to kill me, beautiful.”
A coy and lascivious smile crept across Léon’s face. “Just like I always wanted to.”
A warm chuckle leapt out of Henry. “This was your scheme all along? Seduce me and murder me with your sword?” He caught Léon’s neck. “Well, joke’s on you sweetheart, because I love it.” He smashed Léon in, sinking his dick to its full length, so hard and so fast and so delicious that they both cried out.
Sparks blazed behind Léon’s closed eyes as the table turned. He was on edge, again, at Henry’s mercy, and even if Léon was on top, Henry looped a leg over his shoulder, slapped a hand down on his ass, and fucked him. Too hot, too tight, it was a newand overwhelming sensation. Henry’s hand locked over his hand on his dick, used him to get off, used his hip to take Léon to new levels of splendour, because amongst it all, it was “I love you,” over and again from both their lips. It was “forever,” and it was so many beautiful promises of so many beautiful tomorrows. It was perfection in every breath, every stroke, every thrust, until Henry finally turned rigid and let go, a beautiful display of cum painting his abs, the gorgeous expression of lust and satisfaction and love, and Léon had done it. And how desperately that made him want to finish in Henry.
Henry’s hand, dripping, ran over Léon’s chest, up and down, covering him in cum as he fucked into him. Léon grabbed his hand and brought it to his lips, one buttery, cum laden finger, then two, pumping in and out. He closed his eyes, lost in Henry, the sensation of him, the taste of him. A flash of his hot, devouring eyes, then he came hard, gripping Henry’s waist, smashing into him with all the love and relief and hope for the future Henry had painted for them, that Léon now believed in with his whole heart.
Henry’s body wrapped around him, held him close through the exquisite shaking, every tremor of appalling perfection that floored Léon all over again. All the pleasure Henry had given him, but this with the honesty of his pure heart on full display. “I love you, Henri,” he whispered. “I love you and I always will.”
“I love you. My beautiful angel.” Henry swept his sweaty hair back, kissed him, and they fell into a filthy, sweaty, buttery pile, all locked limbs and love, and they slept together in Henry’s own bed, all that long, glorious, first night in Paris.
49
FEVER
Daylight marked the only morning Léon had ever woken in Henry’s arms. He felt no less elated than he had the night before. Every word they’d spoken was etched on his heart for eternity, free and large and beating for Henry.
Henry slept on, the dear, beautiful man. He slept on with dark lashes on pale cheeks, his hair thick and wild, his arms muscular and safe even in rest, his chest the perfect pillow. But Léon wanted him again. He wanted him awake and gazing into his eyes. He wanted rasps of pleasure in his throat. He wanted all the sweet things Henry said, and he wanted their new life to start right away.
