He groans, “Oh fuck, rosa.” His hips tremble like the ground during an earthquake, and it happens so fast. His hand shoves my forehead as his grande pene gives a hard throb, and he lifts his hips off the bed, trying valiantly to get away from me—but I’m still sucking. I’m swallowing.
He makes a sound—almost a mewling sound, but lower. Then he’s panting, his whole body shaking so much that at first I’m almost worried.
“Sorry,” he rasps. His hand covers his face.
I grip his hips, giving them a shake as I laugh, “Why are you sorry, Galante? You just got a killer blow job.”
He moves his hand off his eyes. I watch as his mouth twists, torn between surprised, elated, guilty.
“Do you think it’s okay?” I ask, husky.
His eyes close as he shifts his hand down to his heart, if he’s saying the pledge. “Yeah. I know it’s okay. I would never let you…if I thought we needed condoms.” He sounds winded—so much that it makes me wonder if he’s sick or something.
I give his dick a little pat and move so I’m stretched out beside him. Then I wrap an arm around him. He wraps his arms around me—we’re facing each other—and he starts breathing harder. Like he’s struggling to get enough air.
“Hey…” I rub his neck, noticing it feels warm. I can feel the little prickles of his hair along his neckline, and it gives me a strange burst of pleasure.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, kissing his temple.
He tightens his grip on me, nodding into my hair.
I press him against me, rubbing his back, which feels slightly damp. “Are you cold?” I reach toward the covers, but he tightens his grip on me.
“Not cold,” he says, and it sounds like he’s speaking through clenched teeth. But his body gives this little shudder, like a counterpoint.
“Hi, Not Cold. I’m Elise, and I really want to cover you up.” I kick the covers up from where they’re pooled at our feet, then reach for them—even as he starts to wrap himself around me. He kisses my neck, panting against my skin. I kiss his forehead. There’s a hoarse sound from him.
“Hey…” I smooth his hair back, finding his eyes closed and his face twisted in what looks like regret. His chest is still pumping. “Luca…is there someone else?” I stiffen in his arms, already wanting to move away, but he squeezes me closer. “No.”
His chest trembles…then his body gives a hard jerk. He’s disentangled from me, clearing the footboard before I can blink.* * *LucaHer arms find me from behind as I stand with my head down, gripping the back of the couch.
“Come back to bed,” she murmurs. “Talk to me, and let’s drink cider and have lemon cake and hold each other.”
“I can’t.”
Her palm rubs my back. Then she presses her cheek to my shoulder blade and stands there playing big spoon with her hands clasped under my pecs. “Then we’ll just stand here. Maybe forever.” She kisses my back then rubs her cheek against me.
“I want to know so many things,” she whispers. “Feels like we’ve missed forever.”
I can feel her chest expand on a big breath she blows out quietly.
“Tell me…what’s your favorite thing that you do regularly?”
The answer comes to mind immediately, but I’d never tell her. It’s too strange, too sad. I think it would make her sad to know. My second choice is also something I can’t tell her. It wouldn’t make sense to talk about my pink ops—not without official clearance and endorsement. I close my eyes.
“Ice hockey,” I rasp, and swallow hard to clear the roughness. “We do this rec league in Brooklyn.”
“Is that how you learned to skate?”
I nod. “My friend Alesso talked me into it. And Leo.”
“I remember those names.”
“From work?” I close my eyes, tugging more air into my lungs.
“From when we were younger. Does your brother play, too?”
I nod. “Just started last year. He’d come to so many games…”
“Just wore him down?”
I nod. He likes to be familiar with something before he wades in. “We’d been playing for seven years.”
She traces a line on my back. “When do you play?”
“Thursday evenings.”
“What do you play? What position?”
“Usually center.” I shake my head. “That mean anything to you?”
“Not even one thing.”
I look over my shoulder, and she takes the opportunity to duck under my arm, squeezing between the front of me and the back of the couch. She warps her arms around my chest and kisses my pec. “Do you like it, playing?”
“Yeah. When I can’t go, my brother plays. We have a few fill-ins because sometimes something comes up.”
She nods. “That makes sense.”
She trails a finger down my side, and when chills follow, she says, “Come back to bed.” She kisses my chin, and then we’re open mouthed and moaning. When we break away, I can’t help laughing. “What the fuck is this?”