My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

I smile that even with everything he had going on, he thought of me. I confide, “I kept asking Janey if she thought you were okay. I even offered to run to the kitchen to get us some food just so I could check on you.” I shake my head sadly, chuckling at the memory. “She told me no and shoved a protein bar in my hand. Told me to eat that if I was hungry.”

Lorenzo’s laugh is warm, washing over me. It’s only been hours since I’ve been with him, but I’ve missed him. I want to know everything about his day, how the kitchen was when he showed up, if he feels proud of his work, but first . . . I need to know what he tastes like again.

As though he can read the turn of my thoughts, his eyes go dark, nearly the color of the mask that surrounds them. Suddenly, the mask that had seemed itchy and weird feels naughty and the anonymity freeing.

“Come with me, Abigail.” An order, but a request all the same. If I brush him off and claim that disappearing in the middle of an event is unprofessional, he’ll agree and wait for later. But I don’t want to wait.

I scan the room out of habit, noting that everything looks impeccable. The arrangements are holding their shapes, the tablescapes are lovely even after the dishes have been cleared, and everyone is having a great time.

I nod and let Lorenzo lead me out of the main ballroom with a guiding hand on my lower back. He draws me to a dark corner, pulling the glittery tulle back and gesturing for me to go ahead. What I find is a doorway hidden in shadows by the lighting and fabric overlay.

“We’ll have to be quick and quiet,” I whisper, knowing he can’t see me because I can’t see him.

He uses my voice to find me in the dark, his lips landing on mine with precise aim. Our bodies mold together, our hands touching and exploring in the dark.

And I’m struck by the most brilliant idea I’ve ever had. I take charge, pushing him back against the wall. “Abigail?” He chuckles in surprise.

But I’m about to surprise him a hell of a lot more.

I let my hands trace his chest, my nails scraping at the ridges of his abs through his shirt until I find his belt. Undoing it and then his pants, I free his cock.

He moans as I take him in hand, giving his hard length a few strokes. And then I drop to my knees in front of him. I let my hands guide his length to my mouth and lay a few sweet kisses to his crown.

I close my eyes even though I’m blind in the dark and encircle his cock with my wet, warm mouth. Up and down, I move slowly and methodically to coat him in saliva and lap up the precum at his tip.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans as his hands twine into my hair. He doesn’t guide me, though, simply letting me work him, and it’s like he needs to touch me to believe this is real and not a figment of his imagination, a dark fantasy of a faceless mouth sucking him off with a party still loudly raging an unlocked door away.

This is so dangerous, and yet I’ve never been more turned on. I enjoy giving Lorenzo pleasure and feel a thrill at the muffled grunts and curses he’s muttering as he tries to stay quiet.

I hum against his skin, “Mmm . . . my poor Lorenzo.” I pull back and use my hands for a moment as I tease him, whispering, “It feels so good. You want to be loud, but you know we might be heard. And how would it look for the chef to be found mouth-fucking the florist?”

“Ugh,” he growls, his hips pushing forward to slide his cock in my tight-fisted grip. “You’re torturing me,” he hisses. “You’ll pay for this, mia rosa. Now, suck me.”

He’s on the edge. I can hear it in the tight, strangled words and feel it as his balls pull up tight against my fist. I don’t tease anymore. I swallow his cock as deeply as I can, letting it bump into my throat. I hear a thump from above and realize he’s thrown his head back to the wall in pleasure. I imagine the cords of his neck straining, his teeth gritted. And so I stop, returning to light licks along his tip until he’s trembling beneath me.

With a smile, I suck him down once again until I find a rhythm that pushes him higher and higher, moaning around his thickness. My eyes are closed tight, stars shooting across my vision, and I remind myself to breathe. Inhaling his musky, manly scent makes me desperate for more. I want him, all of him. So this time, when his breath catches in his lungs, his hands bury into my hair, and he thrusts into my throat, I take it all.