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“Oh my God,” Lucien breathes out.

He tastes like salt and laundry, and I’m surprised I don’t mind it. In fact, I find myself wanting more. I think about how Lucien sucked me, and I do the exact same thing. I flick my tongue across the sensitive underside, watching for his reaction, then wrap my lips tighter and suck gently.

I continue to stroke him while sucking on and licking the tip. Then I fill my mouth with him, and I’m amazed I can fit even this much. I try to take more, relaxing my throat, and he groans from deep in his chest.

I’m so lost in sucking him deep that it becomes my only thought. My world narrows to the weight of him on my tongue, the taste of him, the sound of his ragged breathing. My own cock is pressed against the bed, swollen just from making him feel good.

Lucien reaches down and runs his fingers through my hair. His touch is reverent, almost worshipful. He traces the line of my jaw where his dick stretches my mouth. Tears prick my eyes, not from discomfort, but from the overwhelming intimacy of the moment.

“Look at you, baby,” Lucien says, his voice completely wrecked. “You’re fucking perfect.”

I blush at the praise, doubling my efforts. I take him deeper, my nose nearly touching his dark trail of hair. I stay there, breathing through my nose, showing him I can take all of him. His hips twitch upward and his movements are less fluid, less smooth. He’s losing control. I bob up and down his length, going deep, then shallow, while I stroke him. His breathing quickens, and he warns me with a strained voice that he’s close. He taps my shoulder gently, giving me the choice.

I lift off just as Lucien explodes onto himself. Thick streams of cum coat his defined abs, like icing. He’s breathing hard, his chest heaving, his eyes closed. His hand finds my hair again, and he strokes it softly while still coming down from his orgasm.

I’m amazed at what I just witnessed.

“Come here,” Lucien whispers, and I crawl up his body, careful to avoid the mess on his stomach.

He kisses me deeply, tasting himself on my lips, and he doesn’t seem to care. His hand grips the back of my neck, holding me there, and he moans into my mouth.

When he pulls back, he’s smiling at me, and his voice is soft. “You did good, Cam. So good.”

The praise hits me deep, and heat floods my face. I look away, embarrassed.

I slide off the bed on shaky legs and search for something to clean him with, a towel or T-shirt. I find a T-shirt and climb next to him, wiping his stomach carefully. He’s quiet and still, watching me with bright eyes and a half-smile. It’s a look of amusement.

I toss the shirt into the laundry basket by my closet and lie down on my side of the bed.

I don’t know what to do or say, so I lie still and silent.

He scoops me to him in one big motion, wrapping himself around me from behind, making me the little spoon. His arm comes around my stomach. He pulls me flush against his chest, and I feel his heartbeat still racing against my back.

I close my eyes, and his arm tightens around me. His breathing gradually evens out, but I’m still wired, my mind focused on every place we’re touching.

He shifts, lifting his head to hover over me. “You okay?” His voice is low and careful.

I nod, but it’s not enough. He turns me a little, his hand finding my chin, tilting my face up so he can see some of my expression.

“Are you sure, Cam?”

“More than okay,” I say, looking up at him.

He studies me for another moment, then a slow smile spreads across his face. “You liked it then.”

It’s not really a question. He already knows. But I nod anyway.

“Yeah, I liked it.”

He relaxes his head against the pillow.

I’m almost asleep when I hear him speak again.

“I’m so sorry, Cam,” he says, and his voice sounds far away now.

For what?

It takes me a second to remember, and I’m stunned at how quickly I’ve forgiven him. I don’t know what to say. Is it okay that I don’t care? I don’t like the far-away quality of his voice. I want to be close to him.