spend the rest of his life trying.
He wanted more.
He wanted to taste everything, the hollow at the base of Carlo’s neck, the soft skin of his belly, the backs of his knees. He wanted to gorge himself on Carlo.
“You’re so goddamn delicious. I’m going put my mouth on every inch of you. I’m going to suck you off. I’m going to eat you out. I want to know what your balls taste like, your ass, your come. I’m going to feast on you.”
Out loud. He had said that out loud. But he didn’t care how crazy he sounded because, at his final words, Carlo made that little moan down deep in his throat. That insanely hot sound of pleasure that made something buried inside Garrett go soft and melty and got his dick as hard as a rock.
****
They hadn’t had dessert, but somehow the scent of sugar and vanilla poured off Garrett in waves.
Sweet .
And his mouth was even sweeter, the hint of wine only turning it darker, sinful and decadent. Carlo let every doubt about what they were doing slide away into that darkness. He had waited so long. He couldn’t even consider denying himself this night with Garrett.
Garrett continued to whisper against his skin, telling him how hot he was, all the things he wanted to do to him. Trust Garrett to make the whole event sound like the tasting menu at Ransom. It was the weirdest sex talk Carlo had ever heard, and it shouldn’t have worked. But having Garrett talk about him with the same passion he normally reserved for his food was a major turn-on. Especially since, in between the commentary, Garrett was putting his words into action.
Garrett’s mouth moved along Carlo’s chin in tiny nips. Lips closed around his earlobe and sucked gently as though testing the flavor. He felt Garrett’s open mouth against his throat, then the bite of teeth and a long, slow swipe of tongue. Hands were secondary to a seduction by Chef Ransom. Teeth and tongue were everywhere.
Carlo felt desired, treasured…savored.
And hot. So hot. Every touch of lips, swipe of tongue, scrape of teeth lit him up, and, Holy Mother, they had barely started. Fully clothed. They were still fully clothed. How would he survive it?
Garrett’s teeth closed over one nipple, and Carlo sagged back against the counter as his knees gave a little. He heard himself moan, and then Garrett’s hands were at his waist, pushing underneath the T-shirt and finally on his skin.
Garrett’s hands on him, pushing up his shirt. A flare of panic made its way through the haze of arousal. Would Garrett mind the hair, the extra bit of flesh?
Then lips joined the hands, and Garrett didn’t seem to mind at all. The running commentary was contrast and texture and… Jesus, this was nothing like anything Carlo had ever experienced. Nothing like anything he had ever imagined.
All his fantasies about sex with Garrett, everything from sweet, languid kisses to sweaty, pounding monkey-sex, and he had never imagined himself being reduced to a mindless puddle of quivering goo before they got to second base, had never imagined Garrett being the one to seduce him instead of the other way around.
Garrett’s hands teased around his waistband, flirted with the button of his jeans. Carlo’s dick strained upward, anticipating first contact, a brush of those talented fingers. The haze disappeared, replaced with an all-consuming need to move things along. Now .
He grabbed Garrett’s wrists and pushed himself up away from the counter.
Garrett stilled. “Too fast?”
No.
“Bedroom. Now.”
The trip through the apartment was an obstacle course of jumbled limbs, tangled lips, and shedding clothes. He stumbled out of shoes, found himself pulling feverishly at Garrett’s shirt, grappling with his belt, his fly. He wanted to touch, to taste, to immerse himself in sugar and vanilla and warm flesh, to sate some of his own hungers.
He had the height and weight advantage, but Garrett had belts in multiple disciplines of martial arts and seemed
He wanted more.
He wanted to taste everything, the hollow at the base of Carlo’s neck, the soft skin of his belly, the backs of his knees. He wanted to gorge himself on Carlo.
“You’re so goddamn delicious. I’m going put my mouth on every inch of you. I’m going to suck you off. I’m going to eat you out. I want to know what your balls taste like, your ass, your come. I’m going to feast on you.”
Out loud. He had said that out loud. But he didn’t care how crazy he sounded because, at his final words, Carlo made that little moan down deep in his throat. That insanely hot sound of pleasure that made something buried inside Garrett go soft and melty and got his dick as hard as a rock.
****
They hadn’t had dessert, but somehow the scent of sugar and vanilla poured off Garrett in waves.
Sweet .
And his mouth was even sweeter, the hint of wine only turning it darker, sinful and decadent. Carlo let every doubt about what they were doing slide away into that darkness. He had waited so long. He couldn’t even consider denying himself this night with Garrett.
Garrett continued to whisper against his skin, telling him how hot he was, all the things he wanted to do to him. Trust Garrett to make the whole event sound like the tasting menu at Ransom. It was the weirdest sex talk Carlo had ever heard, and it shouldn’t have worked. But having Garrett talk about him with the same passion he normally reserved for his food was a major turn-on. Especially since, in between the commentary, Garrett was putting his words into action.
Garrett’s mouth moved along Carlo’s chin in tiny nips. Lips closed around his earlobe and sucked gently as though testing the flavor. He felt Garrett’s open mouth against his throat, then the bite of teeth and a long, slow swipe of tongue. Hands were secondary to a seduction by Chef Ransom. Teeth and tongue were everywhere.
Carlo felt desired, treasured…savored.
And hot. So hot. Every touch of lips, swipe of tongue, scrape of teeth lit him up, and, Holy Mother, they had barely started. Fully clothed. They were still fully clothed. How would he survive it?
Garrett’s teeth closed over one nipple, and Carlo sagged back against the counter as his knees gave a little. He heard himself moan, and then Garrett’s hands were at his waist, pushing underneath the T-shirt and finally on his skin.
Garrett’s hands on him, pushing up his shirt. A flare of panic made its way through the haze of arousal. Would Garrett mind the hair, the extra bit of flesh?
Then lips joined the hands, and Garrett didn’t seem to mind at all. The running commentary was contrast and texture and… Jesus, this was nothing like anything Carlo had ever experienced. Nothing like anything he had ever imagined.
All his fantasies about sex with Garrett, everything from sweet, languid kisses to sweaty, pounding monkey-sex, and he had never imagined himself being reduced to a mindless puddle of quivering goo before they got to second base, had never imagined Garrett being the one to seduce him instead of the other way around.
Garrett’s hands teased around his waistband, flirted with the button of his jeans. Carlo’s dick strained upward, anticipating first contact, a brush of those talented fingers. The haze disappeared, replaced with an all-consuming need to move things along. Now .
He grabbed Garrett’s wrists and pushed himself up away from the counter.
Garrett stilled. “Too fast?”
No.
“Bedroom. Now.”
The trip through the apartment was an obstacle course of jumbled limbs, tangled lips, and shedding clothes. He stumbled out of shoes, found himself pulling feverishly at Garrett’s shirt, grappling with his belt, his fly. He wanted to touch, to taste, to immerse himself in sugar and vanilla and warm flesh, to sate some of his own hungers.
He had the height and weight advantage, but Garrett had belts in multiple disciplines of martial arts and seemed
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