Page 19 of Next Season
He was going to say something, and that kind of freaked me out. I wasn’t ready for words. I splayed my hands on his lower back, moved them to his ass, and kind-of-sort-of accidentally pulled him between my thighs.
“Oh, fuck. You’re hard,” I gasped, scraping our scruffy jaws and nipping his bottom lip.
He released a ragged half laugh. “Understatement.”
“Me too,” I whispered. “We should stop, right?”
“If you want to…yes.”
I clutched his ass and rolled my hips, dragging my erection over his. “No, I—it feels amazing.”
He moved his hands to cage me against the washing machine, pressing featherlight kisses down my neck. It was a tease after the mini grind session. I didn’t hate it, though. In fact, I liked having him in control. He knew what to do here; I didn’t. If ever there was a moment to take my hands off the wheel and let someone else do the driving, this was it.
We rutted, humping and thrusting like teenagers. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this unbridled and free with a…lover? No, that word didn’t sound right in my head. I ignored it and gave my undivided attention to sucking face and wantonly writhing with the sexy chef.
Don’t ask me how, but somewhere in my quest to lick his tonsils, Jean-Claude picked me up and hefted my ass onto the washing machine. That was a first. I was a big dude. It took real muscle to move me. Once again, I fucking loved it. Desire shot through me, firing every nerve ending in my body to life. I tugged his tee over his head, then splayed my palms on his bare chest, nipping his shoulders and the column of his throat.
“Crisse. You are fucking beautiful,” he purred along with a string of French sweet nothings I couldn’t translate.
Yeah, I’d never been called beautiful by a man either. I liked that too. I tilted my chin to the ceiling and let him feast on my neck. I let him take off my shirt and tongue-fuck my mouth while he tweaked my nipples. Need boiled and churned inside me as I reveled in his casual praise and rough hands. I was still desperate for friction, desperate for release. I groaned aloud when he flattened his palm over my throbbing cock.
“Oh, fuck.”
He nipped my earlobe. “Okay…or no?”
“Yes. Touch me,” I growled.
He curled his fingers around my length through the fabric barrier, and I kid you not, I almost came. My gaze flitted from his hand on my junk to his mouth and back again, willing him to do more. Anything. Touch me, suck me…I wasn’t too proud to beg, but I wished he’d just read my mind.
“You want more.”
I shivered greedily. “Yeah, I do.”
“Tell me what you want. Say it.”
“I don’t—I don’t know. This is good—oh, fuck.” I gasped as he tightened his grip and stroked me.
“Say it,” he commanded huskily, licking my jawline. “You want my hands on you, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.”
He tugged at the elastic on my joggers and briefs, wordlessly guiding me to lift my ass so he could shimmy the fabric down. My cock popped out on cue, swaying like a flagpole. This was new too. The kind of new that should have tripped internal sirens and warning bells. Not today.
It was just…hot.
Jean-Claude took me in hand, studying my dick as he swiped his thumb over the crown. I wondered what he was thinking and how I measured up. I’d never had any complaints, but I’d also never had a man fondle my balls, stroke my dick, or milk precum from my slit. It was good. So good. He leaned in to kiss me again, bold and dirty.
Stars twinkled in my periphery when he pulled away.
“Still okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I squeaked. “I’m fine.”
“Good. Just enjoy.”
A sly smile tugged at his kiss-swollen lips as he bent his head and—
Oh, wow.Was he going to blow me? I’d be down with that for sure, but I wouldn’t last. I was on the edge right now, a telltale tingle tickling my spine. Just the thought of his mouth on me would be the end of me.