PANCAKES AND PASSION
And then those pouty lips of his slowly descended.
The sun must have made the grass pretty bloody hot. Why else would I have melted into the ground the moment his lips made contact with mine?
Couldn’t be because they were the plumpest, softest things I’d ever felt against my lips in my entire life.
Couldn’t be because his tongue tasted like hot chocolate and marshmallows.
Or because his breath in my mouth was sweeter than a chocolate Snickers bar.
Had to be ‘cause it was a hot summer’s day…
Yeah, right. You believe that and you’ll believe anything!
CHAPTER 03: IN FOR A PENNY, IN FOR A POUND
I’m pleased to say Rory did his fair share of melting too. More than his share…
His chest to mine… his lips to mine. And yes, his groin to mine. Not that either of us had limp noodle cocks… spaghetti might go soft in hot water, but not the penne in my pants or the linguine in Rory’s!
If I’d had my way we’d have kept on melting till we were at least octogenarians, but the late afternoon sun sinking behind the hilltop roused Rory from our mutual passion induced stupor.
Not that I minded when he pulled back to murmur, “Take me home.”
With that raspy voice of his, if those weren’t the sexiest words in the English language, I didn’t know what were… Well, maybe ‘fuck me,’ could top it, but ‘take me home,’ was right up there.
I had to restrain myself from throwing him over my shoulder, caveman style, and just making a run for it to my flat. Okay, okay, okay. His pummeling my butt, and laughingly choked out squeals demanding I put him down may have had something to do with our rather more decorous exit of the park. Thanks to Rory, we looked halfway normal, well, other than our matching boners. Heaven help the people who got a side on view of us. Probably scarred them for life.
All I can say is thank God I lived close by.
From the moment we burst through the front door and hit the stairs we were devouring each other. Apparently our lips were starving again.
Hallelujah—Billy and Jason had gone out.
Actually, maybe they should be the ones singing praises that they were out because I had no hang-up about having them hear me get my jollies off. And boy was I about to get my jollies off. And if I had anything to do with it, Rory’s screams would rival those of a horde of teeny boppers at a One Direction concert. I intended to make the boy yodel. They’d be hearing him in the Swiss Alps.
Rory, I discovered, was the closest living creature to an octopus—I’m sure he sprouted a few extra hands. No way could he be touching me everywhere he was touching me with only two hands at his disposal. Maybe feet too, ‘cause he still managed to maneuver us up the stairs like we were a pair of jack rabbits on speed.
I think he might be psychic too as he seemed to know the first door to the left was my room… or maybe he didn’t care what bed we did it in. Hell, I was at the point I didn’t freakin’ well care either. Tough bikkies if it was Billy or Jason’s. They’d just have to cope. They’d both mistakenly crashed in my room a time or two after a big night out. About time I did a little payback. It must have been their lucky day, though, ‘cause Rory and I stumbled, lips locked, arms and legs tangled, into my room.
I was so far gone I didn’t care who or what Rory was. He could be the devil’s spawn. An alien. A flippin’ vampire. As long as I got horizontal with him, he could be the bloody Messiah for all I cared.
Screw it, I’d do it kneeling. Standing. Upside fucking down. As long as my dick had intimate contact with either his mouth or ass I’d have done it swinging by my toenails from a freaking chandelier.
Come to think of it, if his dick became intimately acquainted with any of my orifices, I’d be equally happy.
Yeah, you could say I was keen…
It’s as I always say: in for a penny. In for a pound. Or maybe, more accurately in for an inch. In for a foot! Slight exaggeration. But I’m good for at least eight inches…
He pushed me and I fell on top of the bed.
“Slow down, Pancake Boy. I want to peel you like a grape.”
Dear Sweet Lord…