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When Artair reached the bookshelf, Luca gratefully leaned back onto the rug, running hands down the cotton of the singlet, meeting the hot skin of Artair’s incredible ass cheeks. Artair kissed him softly, teasingly, as Luca’s cock bounced to life, throbbing hard at his taste and his smell.
But rather than Luca lifting his legs and offering his ass, Artair stopped him—pressing his hands firmly against Luca’s chest and kneeling over his belly.
Artair grinned as his big ass filled Luca’s hands—so peachy and thick. “The article? The one you were writing about celibacy?”
With that, Artair pressed his ass back against Luca’s straining cock, using his cheeks to roll back the foreskin, already slicked wet.
Luca breathed through pursed lips, heart beating hard at this unexpected turn. Swiveling his hips seductively, Artair found the alignment—getting Luca’s pulsing cock head to plant a slick kiss against his hole.
Luca grinned encouragingly. As much as he’d wanted to fuck Artair for weeks, the allure of that thick cock smashing against his prostate had been too much to resist.
And now, it seemed, Artair wanted his own turn.
Luca gasped as Artair made slow swivels of his hips, grinding Luca’s dick against his tightness. “Yeah, that’s—fucking hell—the article.”
Staring down with hungry eyes, Artair bucked back, making Luca’s sensitive glands squeeze just past his ring. “And how’s that celibacy going for you?”
Luca looked Artair up and down—the most impossibly handsome, impossibly horny man that he’d ever had the good fortune of meeting. “You have no fucking idea,” he muttered, breathlessly.
On their eleventh day together, Luca stared at the well-thumbed notebook, covered in a scrawl of pen and pencil and any other writing implement which had come to hand over the last month. “Ready, Sandy?”
“Ahhh, there’s nothing quite like the enthusiasm of a rookie on their first food order. One month prior, they’d be sulking if their double venti macchiato wasn’t at the perfect temperature. Now, they’re just grateful to get something with two colors and a texture.”
Luca scowled impatiently. “Was that a yes?”
“Kid, I started doing this when you were still pissing into diapers. I don’t need to get ready to take an order.”
Artair leaned over the top of the chair, resting his chin on Luca’s head. He had to speak up over the sound of the storm. “Trust me, Dunebug, you might want a pen for this one.”
The eye rolling was almost audible through the line. “Fine, hot shots. Impress me.”
The list in Luca’s hands actually started with some fairly boring ingredients. But he ran his eye farther down the page until he found something that would justify the hype. “I’ll need a shaker of tajín.”
He’d hoped for an awkward pause, but Sandy shot back immediately. “The chili-lime salt essential for a good michelada? Can do.”
Luca was slightly annoyed at that. “Masa Harina,” he said, carefully excluding words like pack or bag that might give it away.
“Corn flour, check. But did you want blue, white or yellow? Ah, don’t worry. I’ll throw in one of each.”
Luca flipped desperately to find something else that might throw her off. “Ummm . . . Well . . .”
“Come on, rookie, I was expecting more! Grey Cliffs Tower just sent through an order that had saag aloo and chaat masala. You must have something on your list to beat that?”
Luca sighed and read through the rest of the list normally.
He’d initially feared that Sandy might stop him ordering enough for two people, but she was also a step ahead of him on that, muttering phrases like: Well, that’s got a super long shelf life, so we may as well get double.
By the time they were done, the order was so large that Luca was worried the helicopter might crash into a mountain.
“Marshmallows!” barked Artair when Luca was done.
Luca groaned. “Really?”
“What? We’re halfway through summer and we haven’t toasted a single marshmallow!”
“There’s a whole bag on the shelf if you want them.”
“I mean... there used to be,” said Artair, guiltily. “Bowie must have eaten them while you were sleeping. Naughty boy!”
