But by the time he comes back, pristine and nude, I’m still hard. He licks his lips as he watches me. “Now you,” he says. “Undress for me. Please?”
It’s the added please that makes me give in, and I take off my clothes slowly, letting his eyes wander wherever they will, getting wider and wider the more clothes I remove.
“What’s that?” he asks suddenly.
Shit. In all the excitement I completely forgot: I meant to hide my tattoo from him. It will only complicate things.
“It’s nothing. I only got it to hide the scar you left me with.”
He’s turning me around, leaning back to study the damn tattoo on my upper arm.
“Doesn’t look like you’re hiding it. More like you’re celebrating it.” He traces a finger across the scar. “What’s this?” He taps at my skin, delight lighting up his face.
“It’s a bird,” I say flatly.
“Hm. Looks to me like a—wait, what do they call that kind of bird? Let me see…” He takes his finger off me and taps his bottom lip, a parody of thinking. “Oh, that’s right. It’s a finch, isn’t it?”
It was probably foolish to ever let him see the tattoo: a wispy finch poised on the raised, jagged scar as though it’s a branch. But at least it’s out in the open now. Frank is the only one who’s ever guessed at its meaning, but still said nothing when I got it years ago. Didn’t even waggle those damn eyebrows. I could see in his eyes he knew what it meant, though.
Now the very man I got it in remembrance of is gazing into my face, his own bright and knowing.
“Don’t make too much of it,” I warn him.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re just an avian enthusiast,” he says, but his voice is like velvet, not iron. He’s not going to push it, not going to make me say it.
I cup his face in my hands. “Forget the ink. Are you ready for me?”
He swallows. “I’ve been ready for five fuckin’ years, honey. Let’s do this.”
We tumble onto the bed. I want to be careful, but Finch throws caution to the wind, urging me to hold him down even while he fights back. He likes the fight; it gets him horny. It does the same for me, so I spend some time wrestling with him like he wants.
“Fuck me hard, when you do it,” he begs. “This is our wedding night, after all, since you bailed on me the last two nights.”
I have him pressed down on the bed underneath me, my hands hard around his wrists, and my legs wound around his, frog-like, so the only way he can move is by thrusting his hips up at me. That, of course, is exactly what he’s doing.
“I hope you packed condoms,” I say. “Because I didn’t.” I really didn’t think we’d end up like this, didn’t even have it as a contingency plan.
“No rubbers,” he pleads. “I’m clean. I want you in me, nothing between us. Please.”
He is clean. I’ve seen the proof with my own eyes. With Tino’s connections, I had Finch’s biographical details and medical records provided for my reading pleasure. He has a lot of problems, mostly stemming from seeing his mother shot dead right next to him at an impressionable age, but he is STD-free.
As for me, I’m meticulous in my testing regime and I’ve never fucked anyone bare. I’m too cautious. But tonight, it seems, I’ve lost my head over Finch, this charming, manipulative, incandescent husband of mine. His body glows bronze even in the low downlights of the bedroom. He’s almost ochre; the sun’s burnished him where it just burns me. How does an Irish kid get this gorgeous tan? Maybe I should take some tanning tips from him.
I take so long just looking him over that he bucks again, his long, slender cock thrusting into my own, and I love how he makes me look like such a brute in comparison. I’m pretty sure he loves it too.
“It’s our honeymoon,” he whimpers. “Can’t we just do what we want for now? When we get back…” He trails off, but I hear the unsaid words. When we get back, everything will be different. He’s going to find out just how much his freedoms have been curtailed, and my time will no longer be my own. My decisions will be informed, shaped, commanded by others.
But right here, in this bed, with no cameras and no wires, we can do as we please. For once in my life, maybe I can let down my guard.
I lower my head and trail the tip of my tongue down his neck, tasting his sweat, cut by a sharp chemical tang. The drugs are working their way out of his system, but I guess the millions of pills he’s taken over the years have left their residue.
“Fuck me,” he demands. “Don’t tease me.”
“I want you way more desperate than this.” His mouth twists as I say that; half annoyed and half amused. “Maybe I should just fuck that filthy mouth of yours again.”
“Please, Luca.” Just hearing my name come out of his mouth is making my blood pound. “I love that, but right now I need you inside me.”
I know why he needs it so bad. He has a void inside and he thinks my dick’ll help fill it. Who knows, maybe it will? But if we’re doing this, if we’re doing what we want to do, I’m going to do it right. I’m going to put my mouth all over him first, taste him. I’ve never wanted to taste someone so bad, and I don’t mean his spunk; I mean him.
He’s freshly prepped and showered; he took his time while I stood there and waited and let the meal settle. I’ve never had such fine food, and I
