Rainblow of Love

Frankie and Preston

 

 

 

“HEY, SEXY.” PRESTON WALKED into the kitchen, fresh from his workout at the gym.

Preston Legare, so posh. My downtown toyboy. In low-hanging shorts and a loose shirt he pulled up to wipe across his face. Baring carved abs, the thin trail of hair, and an indent of muscles that led to a cock I built frickin’ fantasies around.

He looked fucking fine in one of my natty tailored suits. Even better naked. But I had to admit, the sweaty, ruffled, flushed-face look he had workin’ for him right now reminded me of the way he looked after I’d fucked him hard and put him up wet.

Mmmm.

A man could get used to that kind of thing.

“That’s Eye-talian sex god to you.” I leaned into him, drawing his lips to mine with enough wetness and suction to make Preston groan before I turned back to the stove.

The kitchen smelled divine, and I’d been cooking all afternoon for him. My mother’s famous cioppino, Caesar salad, crispy bread I’d made from scratch. Loved spoiling my man.

We lived in a restored carriage house in one of the finer spots of the French Quarter, Charleston, SC. A nice walk through scenic cobbled streets to my shop. Not that we couldn’t afford more. Being a mostly retired hit man and former Mafia enforcer, as well as a bespoke tailor . . . I was flush. And Preston, the executive assistant extraordinaire, wasn’t hurting for money, neither. But the place was private, quiet, and we had our own courtyard where I liked to fuck the holy hell out of him whenever the weather was warm enough, which was often.

“Why don’t you go take a shower then put your feet up? After you pour me a glass of wine.”

“You going to join me?” Preston turned me to him, pressing his fine body against me.

“Frisky?” Madon’. I loved it when he rubbed all over me.

Tight bod. Perfect hair. Nice cock. Great—fucking great—ass.

I was tempted to get all sudsy and wet with him, but I needed to finish cooking in the kitchen before I cooked somewhere else. Capisce?

“Gotta decline that offer, babe.”

“Why? Do we have plans tonight?” He kissed me, doing that crazy good thing with his tongue—which was pierced—that drove me absolutely up the wall.

“Nada,” my voice rumbled out, way huskier than before.

“Do you have plans tonight?” He stiffened, and not in the good way.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My nerves were already a little on edge, and I stared at him.

“You’ve been acting sneaky lately.” His eyes turned brittle and hard.

“What’s gotten your jockstrap in a twist all of a sudden?”

Preston grunted—a sound of sheer annoyance—and pushed against my chest.

“Jesus fuggin’ Christ, amante. You accusin’ me of something here?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I stood my ground as he went all pit bull on me.

“I want to know who else you’re screwing!”

Complete and utter shock ranged through me. Quickly followed by a burst of anger. “You’re on my cock so much, when am I supposed to have time to find a random fuck buddy?”

“That’s all I am? A fuck buddy. Your flamer fag? Your backdoor boyfriend?”

My eyes widened with every word he said, insecurity oozing off him—Preston—the most self-confident man I knew.

“Will you shut those gorgeous blowjob lips for just one second? Madon’, and I’m the one who’s supposed to have a temper. M’I right?”

“Sorry.” His voice cracked. His dark brows beetled.

“Don’t you be sorry. I’m all for airing out the laundry. Least you didn’t do it in the middle of my shop during a busy afternoon.” I brushed a finger down his cheek, fucking amazed at the strong sculpted planes. Like an artist’s rendering. “I’m not cheating on you. Fucking A, I’m the old man here. I should be asking you that.”

His eyes flipped wide. “What? No. No way. I’d never . . .”

“So are you done having a hissy fit? ’Cause I’m not either. I’d never either.”

“You promise?”

I huffed a laugh. “I promise, baby.”

Drawing him to me, I lowered my lips for a long, lingering, sensuous kiss, tasting him as the anger drifted away.

Replaced by sheer overwhelming lust.

When I pulled back, Preston’s cheeks were flushed. Eyes hooded. Ragged breaths driving in and out of his chest.

I spun him around, his back to my front, and pointed out toward the moonlit courtyard. To the little iron café table set with linens and old china and two lit tapers.

“Oh. You have plans for me?”

“Damn right I do. Jealous bitch.” I pinched him on his very hard ass. “Now go hit the shower so I can get this show on the road.”

I finished up the preparations, put all the food on the table. Poured more wine—I’d bought the Sancerre Preston liked best. And when he joined me out in the courtyard, surrounded by old-growing wisteria and bright fuchsia crepe myrtles, he made me damn near speechless. He wore the soft faded jeans that made me wanna cup his ass in my hands. A light linen shirt opened to show the chiseled muscles of his pecs. His feet were bare.

My perfect studboy.

The setting was sublime, but he was the highlight of every single one of my days.

I dished up the savory seafood stew, set a slice of warm crusty bread slathered with butter on his side plate, and added just the right amount of dressing to his salad.

Preston had etiquette down pat, but after he spread his napkin on his lap, he dug in voraciously. He loved my cioppino, and I loved watching him eat. Every so often that damn teasing tongue ring of his clinked on the spoon, and the sound sent shivers down my spine and right into my nads.

Preston continued to wolf down the food while I had little appetite myself. Tried not to drink too much, either.

“Worked up an appetite at the gym?” I asked, fiddling with the stem of my glass.

“More like conserving energy for later.” He paused long enough to smirk. “You’re not hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” He folded his napkin and set it beside the bowl that was nearly empty. “Now I know something’s up. You’re not as subtle as you think, Frankie.”

“Me? Subtle? As a concrete block, maybe.” But I felt like I was choking. And my gaddam palms were sweating.

“What is it? Are you sick? Do you have a disease? Oh, God. You’re not dying are you?” His face ghosted pale.

“Always gotta be a drama queen,” I muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“You really are a pain in the ass.” I raked my hands through my crest of hair. “I try to do something romantic for my boyfriend. Slave away in the kitchen for him. Buy his favorite wine . . .”

“Are you done yet?” Preston looked more and more amused, lips twitching, lips that glistened with some of the salad dressing.

“No. Matter of fact, I’m not.” Sliding from the chair, I got down on one knee.

“Frankie. You’re not serious.” His gorgeous eyes widened when the truth hit him.

“I might not be subtle, but I am suave when I wanna be.” Suave, except my stomach had bottomed out.

Taking Preston’s hand, I pressed it against my heart. “I think you know how much I love you.”

He nodded unblinkingly.

“I adore every last thing about you. The way you take up more room in the bed and always sleep with your hand nestled right here on my chest.” My breathing eased a bit when I saw how quickly he inhaled and exhaled. “I love listening to your laughter and seeing how sweet you are to your grandparents. Hell, even your hot temper . . . turns me on.” I tilted my head, tugging him closer to me. “Will you marry me, Preston?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” he whispered, words that breathed across my lips.

“Tell me.” Before my heart cracks out of my chest.

“Yes.” His grin stretched wide, and he practically jumped into my arms. “I want to be your husband. That’s all I’ve wanted.”

He began kissing all over my face and neck, but I steered him back onto the chair. “Not so fast, babe.”

He scowled until I pulled out the ring box.

“A ring?”

Opening the box, I presented him with the thick titanium band with one square diamond nestled inside. “I’m not having you parade around the scene without a damn ring on it so everyone knows you belong to me and only me.” I slid the ring home then kissed it, fourth finger, left hand, because we were gonna do everything right, right from the start. “And you better believe I’m making you a new tux for the wedding.”

“You just want to take my measurements again.” He grinned wickedly.

“Got that shit imprinted in my mind, but I’m not waiting until the fitting to take your measurements.” Leaping up, I hauled him off his feet.

“You’re not carrying me over the threshold.” He bit down on my earlobe.

“Like hell I’m not.”

“Who said I’m going to be the bride?”

“Me.” I chuckled, fucking delirious, and horny.

Inside the bedroom, I let him slide down. I attacked his neck, biting and sucking and leaving hickies all over, while I dropped his jeans to the floor. As soon as his cock was bared, I fisted that nice sturdy length. The way Preston arched his neck to get more of my lips and teeth, pushed up on his toes to get more of my big palm, made me even crazier for him.

I let off on the wild caresses long enough to raise his shirt up and off.

I even stood still as he unbuttoned my shirt, bunching it his hands, wrinkling it all the hell over. His mouth skittered down my chest, a heavily muscled plane covered in a thick mat of hair he never seemed to get enough of.

Rubbing his cheek against me, moaning and sucking a nipple, his hands dipped to my trousers. He ripped through the tab, flicked down the zipper, pushed them off my legs.

Standing against me—naked skin to naked skin—he grinded into me.

He hardly had a pelt on him, so the sensation of my more furred skin making hard contact with his sleeker body was mind-blowing.

I pawed at his ass, our cocks leaking between two pairs of built abs, the friction hot, the action horny.

“This luscious ass of yours.” I groped his glutes, index finger stroking into the divide.

“Luscious?”

“Mmm. Gonna eat it tonight.”

Preston gasped—the most sexual sound. “You and these huge haunches.” He gripped my thighs, thumbs pushing into the heated crease between my upper legs and hanging ballsac.

“Callin’ me a slab of meat?” I grabbed his mouth with mine, sucking lunging biting, raw wet wild kisses.

“Mmm. Meat.” Drawing back with a nip to my chin, Preston gazed at me, a naughty gleam shining in his eyes.

He ventured low. My neck. My chest. He detoured to my ribs, licking the padded wall of muscle.

He brushed his face all over my abdomen, looking up at me, lips parted when my cockhead hit his chin.

“You gorgeous fuckboy.” I grunted, widening my stance as he lowered all the way to his knees.

I was in for a first class blowjob. Preston gave the best head. It wasn’t exactly the technique. It was his total glutton’s greed for my cock.

I might’ve been a bear, but I was well-groomed. Balls shaved, pubes trimmed. Because getting teabagged by Preston was second best only to licking his ass . . . or fucking that tight heat.

“That’s fuckboy fiancé to you,” he murmured—tone deep—before sniffing all around the thick root of my shaft like he was huffing his favorite drug.

No other words escaped my mouth.

Couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

I clung to sanity by a thin thread, back against the wall of our bedroom, locking my knees so I didn’t fall over when he—ah, damn, yes—pulled back to watch. Watch, heavy lidded, as his palm closed around my stiffer-than-stiff flesh.

He rolled his fist up.

My cockhead turned purple.

My hips pumped.

He audibly clacked the tongue piercing against his teeth.

A warning.

A tease.

A . . .

“Fuck!” I blasted out, stuffing my hands into his hair when he rolled the very tip of his tongue over the blood-engorged corona he made swell in his grip.

The round ball in the middle of the muddafucking tongue ring spun around the thick cliffhead then swirled back and forth over the slit widening to push out more prejizz.

He released me, laughing in a husky tone.

He spat down on my cock, using his palm to run saliva and precome all over the veiny rod he angled up then down then left then right.

Preston licked his lips, winking at me. Then he dove lower. He went at my balls with tongue-slapping goodness. But when he took one testicle into his mouth and reached out with his tongue—that ring—to tap at my dam, I thought I’d lose it.

I twisted my fingers in his hair.

I grunted out curses in several languages.

I pushed his head back so I could look at his swollen lips before I took my dick in hand and stuffed the first few inches into his mouth.

He sucked hungrily. I thrust in and out, roughly. His fingers clasped my ass, pulling me even deeper, and when he peered up, circling that goddamn motherfucking ring all the way around the head again, I just lost it.

Spun out of control.

Muscles spasming.

Shout booming.

Come spraying.

Knees buckling.

Hoarse shouts shredded from my throat, and a drop of sweat from my chest drizzled down to Preston’s temple.

He swallowed. Swallowed. Breathed shallowly.

Cleaned me all over. Got me right back in the mood again, never moving off the hood of my cock until I took him under the arms and tossed him onto the bed.

I pounced right after him.

His chest heaved. He licked come off his lips. His cock was angry red, so stiff it was a mast from his groin.

I forcefully shoved him over, onto hands and knees, after lashing the satisfied smirk right off his mouth with my lips.

“Hey. You’re my bottom,” he griped in a throaty tone.

“Occasionally.” Grasping his hair, I made him arch his back like a feline. “But definitely not tonight.”

Hands moving down the muscled landscape of his back, I fixed a firm grip on his bottom. Spreading the crescents of his ass open, I palmed him, thumbs running up and down his crevice but never hitting his hole.

Reaching beneath, I took him in my hand. Stroked that nice dick, flicked at the head with a fingertip. Then I was on him. Face buried. No more teasing. Too impatient.

I loved his needy whimper.

Loved his clean taste better.

My cheeks clasped between his ass when I lapped the little dot of flesh I wanted to be buried inside of most.

His cock was hard. Mine—spent once already—rivaling his.

I struck him with my tongue over and over again. And he just shoved back to my mouth, pushed forward into my fist. Two-prong arousal, which had him shivering, gasping, sweating, swearing.

“Told you I was gonna eat your ass tonight.” My voice was rough when I leaned up to fetch the lube.

Chills ran all the way down his back, over the tight glutes, down his thighs.

Heavy breaths raised his upper body rhythmically.

Bending low, I nuzzled his sac with my mouth, coating my cock with a heavy dose of the oily stuff.

Tonguing the bridge between his balls and his hole, I dripped more lubricant onto fingers I slowly—excruciatingly slowly—spread inside him until he begged me mercilessly to fuck him, have him, take him, come inside him.

Hands roaming up his back, I whispered in his ear, “Turn over, babe.”

Dazed, Preston shifted onto his back.

I threaded our hands together, dragging my tongue along his panting lips.

His thighs widened, knees pulled high.

He tried to capture my mouth, but I ducked my head to watch the slow ingress into his body. The bell-end of my cock parting the way inside.

His stomach muscles leaped and his head notched back.

Laying one hand on his hip, I held him still, forging deeper into the white-hot heat of his ass.

Preston blew out a breath when my balls finally nested against his ass.

He jerked with a curse when I closed a hand around his primed flesh.

His legs rounded my waist.

I lowered against him, hand between us so I could stroke him at the same tempo I pumped in and out of him.

It would be fast.

He was too hot.

I couldn’t last.

I loved him too much.

His legs hiked higher, and my chest landed on his. My mouth near his ear. One hand gripped in his, his cock in my fist, mine soldering into his sweet, sweet asshole.

“I love you too much!” The words escaped—rushed, hoarse—unbidden.

Like the tears that sprung to my eyes.

The come that jetted inside, so, so deep inside him.

The ring on his finger.

His echoing orgasm.

His body tucking tighter against mine.

Wet come all over my fingers, my hand, my wrist.

My seed planted deep inside, and I didn’t want to move, not when he was the perfect place, the perfect life . . .

The perfect . . .

Love.

I kissed his lips, his mouth lax, his eyes nearly shut, before bringing my wet digits to my mouth and sucking his essence from them. Loved the taste of him so much I didn’t even mind sleeping in the wet spot when we passed out like this.

Engaged.

But I wasn’t ready to sleep yet.

Seemed Preston wasn’t, either. I made sure to leave him as gently as possible and rolled us to our sides. My hands roamed to his face, my mouth landed on his lips.

Just kissing. The slow, long, lazy kisses.

“We haven’t discussed kids yet,” he murmured, taking me completely by surprise . . . again.

I played it off, tensing the muscles on my chest. “What? And ruin my figure?”

He huffed. “Well, everyone else is popping them out like PEZ.”

“Not sure either one of us has the right equipment. And I thought you were too young to know what PEZ are.” Winking, I loved to fuck with his head a little bit.

“I’m serious.”

“You sure are bossy, you know that?” My fingers spanned over his ribs. “Sure. We can do kids.” I played it cool, secretly thrilled to the fucking moon and back. “Only if we use my swimmers since I’m clearly the dominant one.”

“Oh yeah?” Preston flipped me to my front so fast I got dizzy.

He breached my ass with a slick finger—I didn’t even know when he’d popped the cap on the lube. And I yelped just before I saw stars when he hit my prostate with unerring aim.

He bit my shoulder, his toned body pinning me to the bed. “Told you I’d get your ass tonight too.”

“You dirty bastard.”

“And you love it.” He added another finger, fucking me nice and slow, kissing the mark on my shoulder. “I hope you’re ready for my cock, because I can’t wait.”

I grinned into my forearm, groaning in the next second when Preston massaged me deep inside, bringing me to full arousal for the third time in a nanosecond.

A husband and kids.

Madon’.

 

Who’d have thought? But it sounded like a damn good plan. A damn good plan indeed.