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“My prince…” he says, reminding me of his instructions. Quickly I remove my sweater and t-shirt before stepping out of my shoes and pants. My cock bounces against my stomach as it’s released from the confines of my jeans.
“Such a pretty cock,” Jon croons, staring at me. We both enjoy going to the gym, and I know I’m in good shape, but I still love how Jon looks at me. As if I’m the most delicious and sumptuous meal he could ever devour.
“Come closer, my Prince.”
“I thought I was to lay down, Sir?” I ask.
“Such a pretty cock deserves a kiss, don’t you think?”
Swallowing, I step closer until my dick is almost touching his mouth. I look down and see the drop of pre-cum hanging from the tip, and I moan as Jon sticks out his tongue and laps the strand up, before softly placing a butterfly kiss on the head.
My body shivers at the sensation. I still don’t understand how such a small act can have such a huge effect on my body.
I know not to move and keep my hands clasped behind my back as Jon has his way with my body. I’m not nearly as big, girthy, or veiny as Jon is, but like he said, I do have a very pretty cock, and I like nothing better than having Sir’s focus on it.
“I’m not going to last, Sir.” I moan softly as he effortlessly takes my cock into his mouth.
“Good,” he says, releasing my cock, before swallowing me back down, and when I feel his tongue lapping at my balls, they tighten, and I spill, my body humming in pleasure as he doesn’t ease up on the motion. Sucking me until I don’t have a drop of cum left to give.
“Come on, baby. Let me clean you up before I make you sticky again.”
“Yes, Sir,” I reply dreamily, following him into the bathroom.
CHAPTER THREE
DAVID
We were almost late to breakfast, partly from being tired and partly because I had to shower again since Jon couldn’t keep his hands and tongue off my body—not that I’m complaining. My body is a little sore but in the best possible way.
The hotel restaurant is on the lower level and reminds me of the stately decadence in old black-and-white movies, with marble pillars and walls painted a crisp white with accents of black and gold. The feeling here is more modern than the upper floors.
The rich aroma of true Italian roast coffee and bread fills the air as we enter, and immediately we make our way to the buffet table. The assortment of breakfast items is extensive, and I know that I will be coming back for more, especially when I see the Nutella tart sitting on a pedestal in the middle of the table. I didn’t know you were allowed to have dessert for breakfast, but when in Venice, right?
With my plate filled, we find a table near the window to enjoy the views of the street.
On my second trip from the buffet, I notice a couple sitting in a quiet corner booth to our right.
They are stunning. The woman is a few years older than the man sitting opposite her, but she is striking, with a glowing olive complexion, dark, mysterious eyes and gorgeous high cheekbones. Her hair is styled into an elegant updo, but what caught my eye is her outfit. She doesn’t look like a tourist. She’s dressed like royalty, wearing understated high-end clothing. Her whole aura exudes confidence and sophistication. I want to be like her when I grow up.
“You’re staring, David,” Jon says from beside me.
“I’m not staring. I’m admiring,” I retort, taking a large bite of the tart and moaning in delight. The creamy hazelnut chocolate and crumbly buttery crust melt in my mouth.
“You can’t be looking and moaning at other men so early in our marriage, baby,” Jon teases me.
“Babe…” I say, looking from the Contessa—that’s what I’m calling her in my head—and lock eyes with my husband. “I would never let you go. Not for any man,” I say, sliding my hand along his thigh and caressing his dick underneath the table.
“You mean you wouldn’t give my dick up, baby,” Jon replies dryly, but I can see the amusement in his eyes. He likes my infatuation with his dick.
“That too. And anyway, I’m not looking at the man. I’m admiring the Contessa. She’s stunning.”
“Well, if you finish the breakfast, we can go explore Venice, so I can admire my husband.”
“Ah, baby. I’m always ready to be admired,” I say with a smile and lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. “Here, try this,” I say, cutting a piece of heaven on a plate and feeding it to Jon. “This is my favourite thing to eat now, and I demand to have this for breakfast for the rest of my life!”
“It’s good, baby. But I prefer Pedro’s cinnamon buns with rum icing, but I’m sure for you, he’ll come to Venice to get the recipe,” Jon says as he leans over me to take another bite of my tart.
“Hey, get your own, smarty pants!”
