Page 37 of Next Season

If I hadn’t been out-of-my-mind horny, I would have hung back to study the photos on the wall, peek in his kitchen, and check out the sofa and flat-screen situation in his great room. From what I could tell as we whizzed up the wide staircase, Jean-Claude had expensive tastes—modern chandeliers, Persian rugs, and tasteful oil paintings. I was so curious.

And for some reason, it felt like a big deal to get an invite here after spending so much time together. My place was a rental that belonged to his ex-boyfriend. He knew more about how things worked in that house than I did. There was nothing of me there…other than my clothes. To be honest, the same could be said of my actual house in Seattle. Nice modern home with panoramic ocean and mountain views…but it was kind of cold. Grand yet generic.

This, on the other hand, was a lovingly curated treasure trove. I paused in the doorway of the suite he entered, admiring the wall of landscape paintings opposite his king-sized bed.

“Quebec?” I asked, inclining my head meaningfully.

He whipped his shirt over his head and toed off his shoes. “Oui.The Saint Lawrence River, the Otish Mountains, Bouclier canadien…I can show you my art or I can show you my dick. What will it be?”

My choked-out laugh turned into an appreciative groan as he stepped out of his boxer briefs and kicked his clothing aside. A naked Jean-Claude was a beautiful thing indeed.

I moved into his space and reached for his thick cock, my grip firm and so sure you’d never guess I was new to this. I licked his neck under his beard and scraped my teeth along his Adam’s apple as I stroked him, twisting my wrist and rubbing my thumb over his slit. He shoved my joggers and briefs over my ass with a hungry growl and captured my mouth. His hands were all over me, tweaking my nipples, raking his nails on my back, kneading the meaty parts of my ass and pulling them apart, then sliding a single digit over my crack.

Our mouths were still fused and I was still jacking him like it was my job, but my brain was stuck on that nasty slide along my crease…up and down, up and down. I added my dick to the equation, lining our shafts up and jerking us between both hands. I was leaking like a sieve and it only got worse when he tapped his finger against my hole.

I released us, afraid I’d explode way too soon if I didn’t take a breath and reset. “Holy shit. What are you doing?”

Stupid question. I knew what he was doing. He’d done it a dozen times already.

Actually, he’d done much more than graze my entrance. Rimming and finger-fucking were new staples in the bedroom. The first time he’d finger-fucked me, I’d blinked through a blissed-out haze and told myself that couldn’t happen again. It was just too much. Too gay, too exposing, too fucking hot…

But I was greedy for him. His touch set me on fire. I needed his tongue in my hole, his fingers—not one or two…three, please—inside me. I wanted to be stretched open, on the verge of pain while he sucked me like a popsicle on a summer day.

I loved it and he knew it. My orgasms wracked my body and reduced me to a puddle of goo every damn time.

I’d stopped questioning this a while ago. It was too much work to deny I wanted this, and it wasn’t as if we were hurting anyone. We were single and free to do whatever the hell we wanted in the bedroom. If he wanted to suck me off while he fingered my ass, I rolled out the red carpet—legs open, dick drooling—and begged him for more.

And yeah, I returned the favor. Not to brag, but I’d become pretty damn decent at giving a blowjob. Not as good as Jean-Claude, but hey…practice makes perfect, right?

The thing is…I was acutely aware of what we weren’t doing. Did he want to fuck me? Did I want that?

Yeah, I thought I did.

Every time he slid his finger or his tongue inside me, I imagined it was his cock. He was big, though, and it might hurt, but you know…the thought of riding the edge of pain to share pleasure with him did something for me.

So when he brushed that finger over my hole, I shivered at the very idea.

Jean-Claude tapped the sensitive skin again, nuzzling my neck. “You want more?”

See? He read me like a book.

I gulped. “Yeah.”

He spit on the digit, then massaged my hole, slipping the tip of his forefinger inside. That should have been gross, but no…it was off-the-charts hot.

“Like that?”

“More,” I grunted.

He licked my earlobe. “More what?”

“More everything. Please.”

“You want my tongue?” He bit my shoulder. “Inside you?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. No.”

He brushed my prostate, sending a shockwave through my body. “No? Okay, we can do this. Or…we can try a toy. Have you ever used a dildo?”