Bad Case of Loving You

He slapped my thigh gently and said, “Stop that,” and I could hear the laughter in his voice clearly.

“You’re cold,” I said. “Come and get warm and I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”

He pulled himself to his feet with the hand rail. “I don’t like cocoa,” he said, reaching for a towel.

“Ah, I didn’t say cocoa,” I said, wrapping a bathrobe around myself and watching his eyes widen when he realised there was a second robe hanging behind the door, waiting for him. “I said hot chocolate.”

Chapter Twenty Five

The bathrobe was thick and fluffy and deep red, and I adored it. I sat on the couch, my hair still dripping, pulled my legs up, and sighed contentedly. The gas heater was on, blasting heat into the room, and Andrew was doing arcane things in the kitchen.

There was a shelf of DVDs on the bookcase and it only took a few moments to work out that, unless Andrew was obsessed by cheesy action flicks, the DVDs were all there for Henry. When Andrew put a mug in front of me on the coffee table, I said, “Where’s your porn? I’ve not seen any here.”

“No porn,” Andrew said, sitting beside with his mug. “Porn is incompatible with Henry, who is unbelievably nosy. As are all other vices, such as bondage gear and secret stashes of chocolate.”

“No porn?” I said, shaking my head. “But what do you do?”

I sipped my mug, and looked at Andrew in surprise. It tasted incredible, not all watery and bitter like cocoa.

“There’re cream and marshmallows and melted chocolate in that,” Andrew said smugly. “And I have to rely on my fevered imagination. That, and being so tired that jerking off is the last thing on my mind.”

“Know all about that one,” I said, scooping some of the cream floating on top of the chocolate up with my finger and eating it. “God, this is good.”

Andrew caught hold of my hand, lifted it to his mouth and sucked on my finger, too. “Mmm,” he said. “I agree.” He licked my palm, nipped the tip of my thumb with his teeth, then sucked on the sensitive skin of my wrist.

I groaned, this strange gurgling sound, and he chuckled.

“You’re an evil bastard, aren’t you?” I said.

“Me? Never.” He nipped the skin, making me squirm. His hand slid up my thigh, parting my robe and exposing my rapidly thickening cock.

“Put your mug down,” he said, and his hand slid down my calf and wrapped around my ankle.

As soon my mug was safely on the coffee table, he lifted my foot up and pressed his mouth against the instep of my foot.

I squirmed, and I have to admit it, I giggled. Giggling was so adolescent. “Stop it,” I said, trying to pull my foot away.

“I’m ticklish, you bastard.”

His hands were tight around my ankle, holding my foot still, and he stopped kissing it for long enough to say, “Being ticklish is about being afraid of being touched. Just relax and let me show you.”

I stopped struggling, and he said, “That’s better. Now, close your eyes and just feel what I’m doing; don’t try and think about it.”

I was dubious, and it must have shown on my face, because Andrew said, “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

The hand around my ankle was firm and he rubbed his fingertips in tiny circles. “All right,” I said, and I closed my eyes and just let myself feel what he was doing.

I’d always been ticklish, so it was hard work to stop myself from pulling away, and Andrew’s mouth, even though he was just kissing and licking, felt sharp and discordant. “That’s better,” he murmured, and he was right.

If I didn’t fight him, it felt intense and strangely erotic, especially when he bit gently. “Oh!” I said, and tingles began to run up and down my legs. This was incredibly intimate.

Andrew sucked on my toes and then picked up my other foot and guided it into his crotch so it pressed against his cock.

He was a kinky bastard.

Who was onto something.

I wriggled the foot in his lap, working it inside the folds of his robe, and he chuckled, sending vibrations down my leg.

His tongue was slithering between my toes now, rubbing across the webs of flesh, and I was breathing hard, stretched out on the couch, basking in the warmth from the gas heater.

Andrew’s cock was hard and I rubbed the arch of my foot up against it, pressing it against his belly and said, “Pervert.”

Andrew took my big toe out of his mouth. His breath was cool across the wet flesh when he said, “That’s a bit rough coming from a man with a bar through his cock.”

I propped myself up on my elbows and opened my eyes.

“You like what I can do with the bar through my cock.”

He put my foot down and leaned forward and ran his tongue up the length of my cock, making me gasp.

“I do like it a lot,” he said against my belly. “Shall we go upstairs, where there are condoms and lube, and establish this as a certainty?”

I loved him for letting me know that even though we’d just had unprotected oral, he wasn’t expecting to have unsafe penetrative sex.

Oh, God, I loved him.

This wasn’t just infatuation or sexual obsession, this was the real thing.