Chapter 274: Let Me In
{SASHA}
The gold of Tyler ’s pajamas mimics the gold of the brocade canopy over our enormous bed, and when I lay him out against the deep blue sheets.
He looks exactly like a Renaissance masterpiece, a squirming feast for the eyes of sumptuous color and metallic sheen. I’d like to paint him, or at least photograph him, but I settle for letting my gaze travel over him,fixing the memory in my mind.
Tyler allows it until impatience drags his fingers up to the buttons of his pajama shirt. "Come on," he says, his voice low and needy as he undresses for me. "I want you, Sasha. Come on."
I sit next to him, sweeping aside the silk of his clothes, helping him pull them all off until I have his flesh under my hands, warm and soft, his summer tan still glowing. "Beautiful," I tell him, caressing him in long, languid strokes. The air in our Venetian palazzo is warmed with central heating, but Tyler still speckles with goosebumps in the wake of my hands, his flushed nipples standing out, his cock growing plump and damp-tipped the longer I make him wait.
He reaches out to touch me, and I let him cup my face, nuzzling my mouth into his palm. I want to tell him how precious he is to me, how much more precious than anything else I have, but words seem trite. Useless.
I pull off my own clothes hastily, then lie down with him so I can tangle his legs up in mine and kiss him. He acts coy, pulling his mouth from mine each time I try to deepen the kiss, his wet lips gliding away from mine, until I slow down and coax his cooperation. It’s not the first time he’s played the coquette with me, but tonight his fluttering lips and lashes, seductive glances, tentative touches—they all combine until I’m aching for him.
But I want to extend our bliss as long as possible. These last few days have reminded me that there are no guarantees in this world. I should never take Tyler for granted, or our love, or our pleasure. So I let him tease me, let my own imagination tantalize me until I can take no more.
"I want to taste you," I murmur as his tongue flits in and out of my mouth.
He looks down between us, drawing my attention as he strokes his cock once or twice, rolling it over his belly, wiping up the inevitable spill that’s already flowed out of him. He holds his hand up to his own lips and wipes his palm over them, then allows me to devour the flavor from his mouth with hard, feverish kisses.
"Delicious," I say, after I’ve sucked every fragment from his mouth. "But that’s not quite what I meant. Turn over, uccellino."