“Hi, babe!” I loved coming home to Chris. He was at my house more often than not—when he wasn’t working. Since his tours were much different than my work day, we took every minute together that we could.
He was not allowed to have facial hair at work, but since he would have few days on duty, followed by several days off, he didn’t shave between shifts. He’d been off the past three days, and his scruff was coming in. I couldn’t resist running my fingers against it, once the beard went, so did he. At least for a little while.
My job was insane! I was in charge of organizing the school’s renaissance faire. An annual event, it was a huge undertaking. All of the faculty and students dressed in costume and ate appropriate food. Leading up to it we created lessons around it, to make the day a living history class. Parents and the faculty members’ families were all welcome to come as volunteers or just to join the fun. It was a fantastic day for our school community.
Between figuring out the logistics of the faire, and my regular teaching duties, I was stretched thin. Coming home to a handsome man managing to cook a fabulous meal in my tiny kitchen was a dream come true.
We rarely ate out in the city—we mostly drove to the suburbs when we weren’t having takeout. The secrecy was draining the shit out of me.
But… this was Chris.
He stood shirtless in my kitchen, covering steak with some foil. “This has to rest for a bit.” He turned up the music coming through the speakers and reached out for me. “Dance with me?”
Laughing, I went into his arms, loving his familiar warmth against me. He swiveled his hips along with Luis Fonsi as we dirty danced to “Despacito.” Chris’s soft lips kissed up my neck, while his warm hands swept down my back, trailing under the hem to pull off my shirt. His palms rested on my shoulders, our chests close together, and as he kissed his way back down, his fingers flitted from my shoulder to my chest.
“I love this,” he murmured.
“Love what?”
“How smooth you are, how we look together.”
I didn’t have a lot of chest hair, and I waxed what little I had. The contrast between his beautiful olive skin and my lighter complexion was dramatic.
He ran his hand over my chest, over my heart, and leaned down to kiss it. His grin turned naughty. “I think I’d like an appetizer.”
I was getting hard already. “I’m hungry, too.”
He took my hand and placed it on his hardening cock. “Never say I don’t feed you.”
“Mmmm, you are so good to me.” I continued to rub him through his pants, while we gave each other small teasing kisses. I loved his lips; his addiction to lip balm ensured they were always soft. The plump lower one was fun to nibble on, and felt great when he dragged it up my dick.
His fingers ran up my rib cage, echoing the movement I was making with my hand. My fingers slipped beneath the placket of his pants, and I popped the snap one-handed. The tip of his cock peeked out over the top, the weight of his erection pushing his boxers away from his body.
Opening the zipper, I wrapped my hand around his length, jerking him slowly, until his hips began to undulate. Dropping to my knees, I pushed his clothing down to the floor, trapping his ankles. I ran my tongue up his hardness in one long sweep, from base to tip, lapping up his precome and enjoying the moans and groans he made from above me.
I placed light kisses—like those I had garnished on his lip—around his shaft, moving up and down, side to side, with no discernible pattern.
“Fuck, Gabe. I need you to suck me,” he whined.
I continued to tease his cock and balls, using lips and tongue, fingers and palm. His pleas and begs got louder. When he least expected it, I opened my mouth and swallowed him down in one move. The head of his cock hit the back of my throat, and I swallowed.
“Gabe! Oh fuck, Gabe.”
I slid him out and did it again, and again, deep throating him repeatedly, pulling his dick out occasionally to lick around the head and kiss into his slit. Reduced to groans and whimpers, his hands dug into my hair, not yanking, just holding. I moved back enough to speak.
“Fuck my face.”
He looked down at me, ran his thumbs gently over my cheeks, grabbed on to the side of my head and went to town. Thrusting in and out, fucking into my mouth, until spit ran down my chin. He started moving faster, until with a shudder, he bit that pillowy lower lip and came down my throat.
His feet still trapped in his jeans, Chris dropped to the floor after his orgasm, but before he could get anywhere near me, I tore into my pants pulling out my own prick. With just a few tugs, I exploded over my hand. I tilted sideways, falling against Chris’s side.
He took my hand in his and brought it to his mouth, sucking my fingers clean one at time, and lapping up my remaining spend with his tongue. He leaned down to kiss me, hesitating briefly, but I lifted my head to meet him. Tasting myself on his tongue, knowing he was doing the same almost made me hard again. We kissed gently as we both slowly returned to earth.
Leaning into his shoulder, I looked toward the kitchen. “So, about dinner. Think it’s rested enough?”
He started to laugh. “I think so. But neither of us is setting foot in that kitchen until we wash our hands!”
“Let’s make it a shower.”
We ended up eating the steak cold an hour later. Neither of us minded a bit.