Page 20 of Snow Place Like LA
He tasted wonderful, salt and skin and him, and I loved feeling him jump and jerk on my tongue, like just being in my mouth was enough to make him respond.
“Fuuuuck,” Angel whispered, watching his erection disappear into my mouth. “You feel so good. Fuck.”
I wrapped my fist around his base and worked the bottom of his shaft while I sealed my lips around him, making as much suction as I possibly could while also caressing his sensitive frenulum with my tongue.
“I’m not going to last,” he warned me, his chest heaving. His eyes were molten on mine, his hand on my cock tight enough to make an angel sing. I didn’t want him to last. I wanted him to spill all over my tongue, spill right down my throat. I wanted to taste him, to feel him pulsing, and know he was as far gone as I’d been all this time.
Also I was about to jizz all over his fist.
He went first, his thighs tensing around my shoulders, his breath coming out in a punched exhale as he surrendered to the primal need to fuck and shoved his way deeper into my mouth as he swelled and swelled. The dam broke, and he poured down my throat, spurt after thick spurt, his shaft flexing with each and every hard, long jet.
He had one hand on my cock, moving in irregular strokes, and his other hand on my jaw, and it was strange to feel treasured just then, but I did, I really did. He was still getting me off, even in the throes of his own pleasure, and his expression was something between awed and greedy. He was looking at me like he was trying to memorize this moment, memorize everything about it.
The orgasm rippled through me with abrupt speed, and I came with his cock in my mouth, twisting underneath him. I could hear my Converse on the sofa, rubber against the old velour cushions, and I could hear the now-slick sound of his hand working me over and over, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from me that he could, even as he was still using my tongue to ride out the last throes of his release.
He slid free after a minute, although he kept his fist around my now-sensitive cock. He looked back over his shoulder at my groin.
“You made a mess,” he teased.
I smiled up at him, my half-dressed and all messy body more loose and relaxed than I could remember it being since our cabin in Christmas Notch. “I think I have just the thing.”
Chapter Eight
An hour later, and we were in a bubble bath. A legit bubble bath in the giant clawfoot tub that I’d rescued from my landlord’s curb when she’d renovated her master bathroom to have a walk-in shower with LED lights and a built-in fireplace.
And despite an Ibiza-rave level of bubbles, we weren’t doing a very good job of getting clean.
It had started innocently enough, with me sitting between Angel’s legs while he stroked my arms and shoulders, and then somehow I ended up in his lap, and then somehow I was straddling him, my thumbs bracing his jaw as I kissed him as deeply as I could. Our erections grazed under the bubbles, and with a long groan, Angel grabbed my hips and yanked me closer, until we could grind together properly.
“Luca,” he said, breathless from kissing, “there’s still some other stuff we should talk about tonight.”
Ugh! We’d done so much talking already! Talking responsibly was like donating blood—yes, it was fun to feel smug about my moral fortitude... but I was also exhausted and wanted a cookie.
Although I wasn’tthatexhausted...
“Later,” I said against his lips. “I need help getting clean first.”
I could feel Angel’s smirk curve against my mouth, and then I felt the resulting puff of breath when I found one of the hands he had curled around my hip and guided it down and over my ass to the tight ring of muscle waiting for him.
Getting clean was a lie, really, because I’d taken a pre-sexy-bath shower while Angel had taken a call from a panicked Sunny, who was now anxious about the cinematographic kinship between her porn masterpiece andPretty Woman, and suddenly wanted to run the entire film through the blueTwilightfilter instead. So by the time we’d clicked open the lid on Mr. Bubble, my body was ready and my nether entrance was clean enough to eat off of—or at least to eat, which was more important to me anyway.
But Angel accepted my pretext, and rubbed his fingers over my opening, pressing and testing the firm eyelet there as he caressed me. My erection jerked, and as I lifted to give him better access, it slid against the firm muscles of his stomach, the tip breaching the bubbles to the cool air of the room. I shivered.
“Yes?” he asked in a husky voice, his finger now toying with my opening.
“Yes,” I breathed. I’d die if, after everything we’d been through, we didn’t have a bubble bath bonedown.
We’d earned this bubble bath bonedown!
I reached past him to the small table next to my tub, which was mostly there for tub-wine purposes, but it was also convenient for other reasons... like a little drawer where I stored a bottle of silicone-based lube. I took the bottle and pressed it into his bubble-dripping hands.
“The condoms are in my bedroom,” I said. “But... I haven’t been with anyone since you.”
He let out a long breath, ruffling some of the curls that hung over his forehead. “I haven’t been with anyone since you either,” he admitted.
I knew monogamy was a construct and a prison, et cetera et cetera, but God, it felt good to know that Angel had been right there with me. Alone, pining. Hungry but hungry only for a certain person. It made me feel wanted and chosen and together with him, and okay, maybe monogamy was a construct, but sometimes it had its charms. Like right now when no one had to do the wet-foot-shuffle across the tile to go get condoms.
“Then I’m okay going without,” I told him. We had gone bare in Christmas Notch, both of us recently tested, since that was basically as easy as walking into the Uncle Ray-Ray’s offices on nurse day.
