Tattoos & Teacups (21 page)

“Really?” he repeated, sounding delighted. “I think I’d like that.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. What about you?”

“You can spank me anytime you like.” I rolled my eyes, not that he could see me, and poked him in the side. “Okay. Promise you won’t think bad of me?”

“I promise,” I said.

“I haven’t done this before, before you start getting all upset,” he started. “But I want someone to come inside me. Bareback.”

“Without a condom.”

“Yeah. Then I can… fuck. Feel it sliding out again.” The last few words were whispered.

“Deviant,” I said and kissed the shell of his ear.

“Yeah. You’re not disgusted with me?”

“No,” I said, realizing as I did that it was the truth. “It’s not whips and chains, so I reckon I can just about handle it.”

“Thanks.”

“You know you have to be careful, though, right? That sort of thing is dangerous in a whole new way.”

“I know,” he said, somewhat defensively. “I’m not likely to go up to a random guy in a club and ask him to fuck me bare. It would be with someone I love.”

“Maybe one day I could do that for you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, tilting his head back and grinning.

I looked over at the clock, surprised to note how late in the day it had gotten without me paying attention to the time passing. He really was such a distraction.

“Am I allowed to check my e-mails?” I asked him. I was starting to feel a little more edgy about the fact that I hadn’t logged on to a computer once yet today.

Chris sighed dramatically. “I suppose so. Can I come and poke around your office when you do?”

“Are you keeping tabs on me?”

“Nah. Just being nosy.”

I had an old, large-screened Apple computer that sat on an antique Edwardian desk that was something of my pride and joy. Considering the amount of time I spent in my office working, which was a lot, I felt the purchase of nice equipment to go in it was justified. Even if that equipment—like its owner—was now a little out of date.

I kept half an eye on the screen and the other on Chris as he wandered around the small room, his fingertips trailing lightly over the spines of hardback books.

“You’ve just got so many,” he said in a hushed voice.

“Books? Hmm. I’m an English teacher, Chris. It kind of comes with the territory.”

There wasn’t a guest chair in this office since no one ever came in here except me. Not one to stand on ceremony, Chris sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall, his restless hands now flitting over the wallpaper.

“What’s your favorite?”

“Book?” I asked. “That’s a tough question. What’s your favorite piece of music?”

“Gershwin,” he replied immediately. “To play, anyway. Or the score for
West Side Story
has a pretty cool rhythm section. To listen to… at the moment is a chick called Laura Marling, although I change my mind fairly regularly.”

I logged on to my e-mail account and frowned as I waited for it to load.

“I suppose I have different books for different moods,” I said as I scrolled through announcements, looking for any genuine correspondence. “I used to read Kipling to soothe me, but I haven’t done that in a while now. I suppose that’s the danger of studying and teaching it.”

“I wish I had the patience to read,” Chris said. “When I was a kid, I had that attention deficit thing.”

“ADHD?” I could believe that.

“Yeah. I grew out of it. Mostly.” He smirked. “They got me playing the drums when they realized I’m not dumb, I just learn in different ways.”

“A good teacher can do that,” I said. Concluded I had nothing to worry about, or at least no pressing issues, and began the laborious task of logging off and shutting down. “Do you absorb things well by listening?”

“Like in your lecture? Yeah, I suppose so. I remember quite a lot of it.”

I was irrationally pleased at his confession. Standing, I crossed to him and offered a hand to pull him up, then kept hold of it while I searched for and quickly found an old volume of poetry.

“I learned swathes of Kipling by heart,” I said to him as I led him back to the sofa. “It’s really easy to do because of the rhythm. But it’s always nice to hear something new.”

We resumed our previous position with Chris sitting between my outstretched legs, and I unfolded the book on his chest. And started to read.

The last time he’d heard me recite anything was when he’d come to my lecture, and even though it was only a matter of weeks ago, we’d become so much more comfortable in each other’s presence, to the point where I could read to him in my pajamas. Due to the lateness of both the season and the hour, the sun was starting to set, meaning I had to strain a little to see the words but was loath to turn on the lamp lest it interrupt the soft orange glow of the sunset through the window.

I stopped when it got so dark I couldn’t see anymore and carefully set the book down on the sofa next to me. I was convinced by his steady, deep breathing that Chris had fallen asleep somewhere around
Gentlemen Rankers
. But he gave a sigh of content and dropped his head back to my shoulder when I finished and angled it to press a warm, wet kiss to the side of my jaw, just underneath my ear.

“You have the sexiest voice in the history of ever,” he said in an emphatic whisper.

Those sorts of compliments no longer made me uncomfortable but sometimes still made me blush. I glanced over at the clock on the mantel once again, and the hot feeling changed to embarrassment as I noticed the late hour.

“Sorry,” I murmured. “I didn’t know how late it was.”

“Don’t apologize. I loved it. Can we have Chinese for dinner?”

I laughed softly and brought his lips back to mine. “Anything for you, my love.”

I
LET
Chris call and put in the order since I didn’t really have any preferences as to what we ate and he clearly did. While he was engrossed in a menu and choosing various dishes, I wandered around my little flat and threw a load of laundry in my washing machine. Then made black tea with lemon, which would go nicely with the Chinese food.

For some reason I felt the need to keep active. I had done almost completely nothing all day, and the lack of activity was making me lethargic.

“We haven’t had nearly enough sex yet today,” Chris complained.

As the day had worn on, I’d gotten used to the fact that he was wandering around half-naked. Sensing an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, I let my eyes linger lasciviously on his bare chest. The sight of his chest was usually enough to turn me on, and as my gaze lingered, I found the spark that would turn everything up to just the right notch to be able to act on.

“Take your pants off,” I said in a low, commanding voice. “Put your hands on the back of the sofa. And spread your legs.”

He hastened to respond.

This position was clearly comfortable and probably fairly familiar to him as he dropped his head between his outstretched arms and arched his back, which thrust his ass up into the air. If there was one thing I’d learned about Chris, it was that he was incredibly aroused by anything stimulating his ass. This kind of play was what really turned him on.

I knelt down behind him, kicking off my own pants as I went. My thumbs skimmed over the soft, pale swell of his ass, and I leaned in to press a wet kiss, lick, and bite to the fleshiest part. He whimpered, which was just the reaction I’d been hoping for.

With one hand on each of his cheeks, I spread them wide to reveal his pink, puckered hole. His hips were rocking slightly, a clear invite for me to do more, go further, but I wanted it to be on my terms so I gently slapped his ass.

“No.”

My tongue flickered lightly over his hole, so lightly I knew it would drive him insane. With the contact he groaned deeply and arched his back, thrusting his ass toward my face. I lapped at him, slowly at first but building a regular rhythm of long licks and soft flicks that caused a litany of curses and prayers to fall from his lips.

The beautiful, foul-mouthed little angel that he was.

“Bedroom,” I said emphatically.

He didn’t argue.

I stripped off with my usual abandon, now that I was so comfortable in his presence. Still, as usual Chris was more comfortable with his own nudity than I was. That was understandable, really; he was young and perfect and beautiful. The sort of man who goes to the gym three times a week. I would be surprised if I’d been in a gym three times in my entire life.

I pulled the curtains closed just in case any of my neighbors decided to investigate the goings-on of my bedroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if they did—most of them were nosy buggers.

There was no way of disguising our obvious desire for each other, evident in straining, bobbing erections as Chris flopped dramatically onto the bed.

“Come on.”

I went to him and attempted the same belly flop onto the bed. My effort didn’t have quite the same level of disdain. Then Chris rolled on top of me, pinning me to the bed with hips and knees and the look in his eye that made me want to surrender to whatever he wanted from me.

“You want to bottom tonight?”

I balked at that. “Not really.”

“Yeah, I know. See, the thing is, Rob, we can talk about this for weeks and give you plenty of time to work up a full head of steam worrying about it. Because I know you will. Or we can just do it now and get it over with.”

“I’m not convinced those are our only two options,” I said drily.

“I want you,” he murmured and brushed his fingertips over my forehead. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

“I know you will.”

“Will you let me?”

I had a choice in the matter, of course I did, but I also knew that Chris wouldn’t push me too hard. He’d push for a while, but if I kept saying no, he would respect my decision and back off. I didn’t want to be a hopeless case, and I did want—one day—to lose my virginity, so to speak. To bottom for someone. For someone who mattered.

There was just the matter of gaining the courage to do it.

And on consideration, if I was going to do it with anyone, I wanted it to be with him. I trusted my strange, impetuous man to take care of me, and that didn’t make sense at all, but neither did most of my relationship with him so I was willing to just go with it.

“Um, Rob?” Chris said, playing with the tips of my hair. “You haven’t said anything in quite a while.”

“Sorry,” I said and shook my head. “Yeah. Okay. Do it.”

“It’s not quite as simple as that,” he said. His lips quirked up at the corners. “Are you sure?”

In response, I drew him down into one of the long, slow kisses that I was starting to feel defined our relationship. He made my spine feel weak. And like I was a dizzy, crazy teenager again, swept up with the wanting of someone that never seemed to abate.

“Please,” I asked him.

“Okay. Rob. It’s gonna be alright.”

I believed him.

To start, he moved sensuously down my body, laying soft, loving kisses over my sensitive spots, searching out the places where I needed his reassurance. Then swallowed my cock into his throat in one ridiculously smooth, practiced move.

As he sucked me deep, his fingers brushed up and down the outsides of my thighs, giving me sweetness that fit so perfectly against the raw sexuality that seemed to flow from him. And when his fingers brushed over my hole, they were whisper soft and barely pushing at all.

“Chris, I have had things up my bum before,” I told him with a smile tugging at the edges of my mouth.

“All right,” he muttered and reached for the lube. “Thought you were a virgin, but fine….”

“I am,” I said. “But I’ve touched myself there before.”

His mouth fell open in a little “Oh.” And he groaned. “That’s hot.”

I spread my legs for him, hoping that this might distract from my masturbatory experience, and his slick fingers soon appeared at my hole. Although I’d admitted to touching myself there before, I’d actually never really penetrated myself beyond one searching finger. It took a lot of faith for me to relax enough to accept his gentle stretching, even though I knew that he was doing it so I wouldn’t get hurt.

One slick hand loosely worked my cock to keep me on the edge of pleasure, and he seemed to know just when to push me and when to ease back so I could find my comfort zone again. Every now and then, his fingers brushed against my prostate, and I’d never, ever had that kind of stimulation before. It was a little overwhelming and a lot pleasurable.

Even though I’d always flinched when someone touched my testicle, when Chris did it, it felt like he was doing it for all the right reasons. And I didn’t mind his curiosity. After having not been touched there in that way for over a decade, it took a moment to adjust to.

I was taking big strides in learning to trust him with my body.

When I was ready, Chris curled up behind me in the position we often slept in, although I was usually the one holding him. With sure hands he gently rearranged my body, bringing my top leg up closer to my chest and making sure I was comfortable.

I wasn’t scared, I was apprehensive. And barely aroused.

His warm, dry hand held my hip in place, his lips pressed against my shoulder, and he pushed inside me. My body arched back, and some sound was ripped from my throat; it wasn’t pain, he’d spent too long preparing me for this to now cause me pain. Chris stopped moving long enough for my body to adjust, then pushed forward again.

Slowly. So, so slowly.

When he stopped, I wasn’t sure if he was giving me a moment again or if this was it.

“You’re inside me,” I gasped.

“Yes,” his voice said, warm breath tickling my shoulder.

“All the way?”

“All the way.”

I could feel the tension radiating from his body, but he still kept his movements careful and gentle, little rocks of his hips until I was actively pushing back into his body. When I searched for his lips, they were right there, waiting to give me the reassurance I needed that I was doing okay.

I craved his body, and it came as a shock to me that this was no different. Even though it was him inside me instead of me inside him, those same feelings of
mine, now, I love you
were still right there on the surface.