easy. Made it all the better.
I said, “Is that dinner offer still open?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
I stood up.
“Do you have a jacket or something?”
“A jacket?” I repeated.
“It’s pretty chilly out.”
“Are we going out?”
“You don’t want to eat here in the hotel, do you? We’re more than likely to run into some of my crew.”
Sensible thought. While I felt the need to talk, I wasn’t looking for an actual audience. Just one pair of sympathetic ears.
“I’ve got a jacket in my room.”
He followed me down the hallway. I unlocked my room, pushed the door open and we went inside.
The door swung heavily shut behind us. Darkness fell over us like a warm blanket. I felt intensely aware of Fraser’s silent, shadowy presence beside me. Too aware. I fumbled for the light switch.
Light sprang on, illuminating the generic furniture and red-and-black-plaid bedspreads. I stared at Fraser, he gazed steadily back at me, and suddenly we were in each other’s arms. I couldn’t swear as to who made the first move. I think it was me. Full-body slam.
I couldn’t get my belt unbuckled or my jeans unzipped fast enough. My hands were shaking, I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath and that my balls were in knots. Fraser’s arms locked around me, hugging me tight and further impeding my attempts to get my pants down.
His face bumped into mine and his mouth latched on. I hadn’t been thinking in terms of kisses. That seemed something that belonged to another time, place, relationship, but the softness of his lips and beard—contrasting with his considerable hunger—robbed me of protest.
And then I didn’t want to protest. I think it was the ChapStick that did it; he tasted like ChapStick and Jack Daniels. That reminder of human vulnerability got to me in a way that polished experience wouldn’t have. Not that he had lied about the experience. This was a man who knew his job, but underneath his bravado was something I totally understood. Instead of insecurity making Fraser mean and greedy, he was generous. He kissed me with such sweetness it was almost unbearable. And he kept kissing me, giving me barely time to breathe, let alone think.
Then his tongue pushed against mine and I jumped. No tongues was one of Noah’s rules. We used to joke about it, referring to Elizabeth’s line in Young Frankenstein , but Noah really didn’t like French kissing.
Feeling my recoil, Fraser mumbled, “Sorry” against my mouth.
I shook my head and thrust my tongue back against his, because I did like it. I felt Fraser’s surprise and then his tongue thrust discreetly back. We threw discretion to the winds and used our tongues to search and explore. Yes, I liked it. I liked the taste of Fraser, and I liked the feel of his rough, wet tongue dipping deep into my mouth, even as I tried to tangle my tongue with his, I liked his erratic breaths mingling with my own, I liked the feel of his hands on my body.
He kept making a deep “Mmm” sound like I tasted delicious, as though he was savoring me, and as distracting as it should have been, it turned me on all the more.
He pushed me back against the wall, and that little bit of roughness was even more exciting. For a second or two we leaned against each other, breathing hard, and I wondered what he’ddo next, and if I would go along with it or not. I felt unusually receptive to the idea of pretty much anything—up to and including being fucked.
The idea should have shocked, but it didn’t, which was maybe testimony to the skill of those kisses.
His heart was hammering harder than my own. I could feel it against my chest. It was endearing somehow that this was a big deal for him, and it was. I could tell by the way he touched me, helping me get my jeans open and down, my briefs over my rigid cock without doing me harm.
Ready and waiting, my cock bobbed up so that it nearly tapped my stomach.
“Well hello there,” Fraser greeted it seductively, and I nearly
I said, “Is that dinner offer still open?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
I stood up.
“Do you have a jacket or something?”
“A jacket?” I repeated.
“It’s pretty chilly out.”
“Are we going out?”
“You don’t want to eat here in the hotel, do you? We’re more than likely to run into some of my crew.”
Sensible thought. While I felt the need to talk, I wasn’t looking for an actual audience. Just one pair of sympathetic ears.
“I’ve got a jacket in my room.”
He followed me down the hallway. I unlocked my room, pushed the door open and we went inside.
The door swung heavily shut behind us. Darkness fell over us like a warm blanket. I felt intensely aware of Fraser’s silent, shadowy presence beside me. Too aware. I fumbled for the light switch.
Light sprang on, illuminating the generic furniture and red-and-black-plaid bedspreads. I stared at Fraser, he gazed steadily back at me, and suddenly we were in each other’s arms. I couldn’t swear as to who made the first move. I think it was me. Full-body slam.
I couldn’t get my belt unbuckled or my jeans unzipped fast enough. My hands were shaking, I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath and that my balls were in knots. Fraser’s arms locked around me, hugging me tight and further impeding my attempts to get my pants down.
His face bumped into mine and his mouth latched on. I hadn’t been thinking in terms of kisses. That seemed something that belonged to another time, place, relationship, but the softness of his lips and beard—contrasting with his considerable hunger—robbed me of protest.
And then I didn’t want to protest. I think it was the ChapStick that did it; he tasted like ChapStick and Jack Daniels. That reminder of human vulnerability got to me in a way that polished experience wouldn’t have. Not that he had lied about the experience. This was a man who knew his job, but underneath his bravado was something I totally understood. Instead of insecurity making Fraser mean and greedy, he was generous. He kissed me with such sweetness it was almost unbearable. And he kept kissing me, giving me barely time to breathe, let alone think.
Then his tongue pushed against mine and I jumped. No tongues was one of Noah’s rules. We used to joke about it, referring to Elizabeth’s line in Young Frankenstein , but Noah really didn’t like French kissing.
Feeling my recoil, Fraser mumbled, “Sorry” against my mouth.
I shook my head and thrust my tongue back against his, because I did like it. I felt Fraser’s surprise and then his tongue thrust discreetly back. We threw discretion to the winds and used our tongues to search and explore. Yes, I liked it. I liked the taste of Fraser, and I liked the feel of his rough, wet tongue dipping deep into my mouth, even as I tried to tangle my tongue with his, I liked his erratic breaths mingling with my own, I liked the feel of his hands on my body.
He kept making a deep “Mmm” sound like I tasted delicious, as though he was savoring me, and as distracting as it should have been, it turned me on all the more.
He pushed me back against the wall, and that little bit of roughness was even more exciting. For a second or two we leaned against each other, breathing hard, and I wondered what he’ddo next, and if I would go along with it or not. I felt unusually receptive to the idea of pretty much anything—up to and including being fucked.
The idea should have shocked, but it didn’t, which was maybe testimony to the skill of those kisses.
His heart was hammering harder than my own. I could feel it against my chest. It was endearing somehow that this was a big deal for him, and it was. I could tell by the way he touched me, helping me get my jeans open and down, my briefs over my rigid cock without doing me harm.
Ready and waiting, my cock bobbed up so that it nearly tapped my stomach.
“Well hello there,” Fraser greeted it seductively, and I nearly
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