“Honey, I’m home.”
Alex laughed and came out of the kitchen to greet his husband. “We’ve talked about this, right? You do not walk into this apartment and talk to me like I’m the little wife.”
Leo kissed him soundly on the cheek. “Aw, but you’d look great in an apron, holding a glass of beer out for your weary, hard-working hubby.” He smirked. “And besides, no one in their right mind would call you little.”
Alex quirked his eyebrows. “One, you don’t drink beer, which is why there’s a glass of chilled chardonnay on the living room table, waiting for you. Two, excuse me—weary? Hard-working? You’ve been standing around in leather chaps and a harness, watching while guys do all manner of things to each other, which probably included a lot of fucking, because, hey, it’s Saturday night, right?”
Leo sighed happily. “What can I say? I love my job.”
Pietro stared out at the scene below, the gondolas passing beneath their hotel window, the noise drifting from the piazza San Marco, the warm glow of the sunset. Their last night in Italy, and he didn’t want this beautiful dream to come to an end. He leaned on the window sill, the gauzy white curtain soft against his skin, and sighed.
A warm hand on his bare arse. “That was a very heavy sound.”
Pietro didn’t turn. “I love Venice.”
Miles chuckled. “I got that impression.” Pietro shivered to feel Miles’ lips kiss their way up his spine, ending at his neck, where his shivers grew more pronounced. Another chuckle. “Pietro’s hotspot. Well, one of them.” Miles stroked down his back, his hand firm but gentle. “I’m glad you’ve had a great time.”
Pietro laughed. “That would have to be the understatement of the year. I don’t think you’ll be able to top this.”
Miles’ breath stirred the hairs on the back of his neck. “You may be right. But I have a plan to make your last night memorable.”
“Oh?” Pietro arched when Miles reached around to stroke his chest. He could feel the weight of Miles’ dick pressing between his cheeks. “W-what did you have in mind?”
“Dinner downstairs. I know you really like the food here.”
“Nice.” Even nicer that they wouldn’t have far to go to get to their bed.
“But that’s later.” This time Miles was planting kisses all the way down Pietro’s spine, until he reached his crease. Pietro caught his breath when Miles pulled his arse cheeks apart and a hot tongue licked slowly over his hole. “Miles!” He bit back his groan of pleasure as a gondola passed by, the passengers waving at him.
Miles chuckled again. “They can’t see anything, only you from the waist up and the white curtain. So unless you want all of Venice to know what’s about to happen, I’d do my best to keep a straight face if I were you.”
“And what is about to—holy fuck!” Miles’ hot, bare, slippery cock pressed between his cheeks and slowly, slowly filled him. “Oh, fuck, Miles.”
“Fucking was the general idea.” Pietro heard the ripple of amusement in Miles’ voice. But anything else Pietro had wished to say died on his lips when Miles began to fuck him with deep, long strokes. Fuck, it felt amazing.
“Wave to the nice tourists,” Miles advised him as he picked up speed. “And this will be fast. I’ve built up a nice load of come to shoot deep inside your arse, and right now, said arse is so fucking tight, you’re going to milk it right out of me.” His hands gripped Pietro’s waist as he slammed into him, the force of his thrusts jolting Pietro’s body.
Pietro clung to the window sill, his fingers gripping the wood while Miles reamed him. He tilted his arse higher and did his best to swallow his moans when Miles buried his dick to the hilt in Pietro’s channel. Quite the challenge, to present a picture of a tourist watching the passing scene while his lover fucked the come out of him.
Except Miles had other ideas.
“Push back. Fuck yourself on my cock,” he growled.
Pietro slowly pushed back onto him, impaling himself on that long, thick shaft.
“Faster,” Miles whispered. “I want to see you come from this.”
Pietro closed his eyes to shut out the view and rocked onto Miles’ dick, his balls tingling and tightening. When Miles slapped his arse, the sound sharp and loud, Pietro’s eyes flew open and he gasped. Another slap, then another, and another.
“You’re going to make me come,” Pietro muttered, trying to paste on a smile as a passing tourist looked up to their window and waved at him, before clicking away with their camera.
Miles’ only response was to grab Pietro’s hips and yank him back onto his cock, punching into Pietro’s body with quick, deep thrusts.
“Now, boy,” Miles growled, and his body slammed into Pietro’s, his low groans rolling out of him like thunder. Pietro felt Miles’ dick swell and throb inside him, and he sighed, knowing his master’s seed was filling him. A shudder coursed through him, and he quickly reached down to cover the head of his own cock as it creamed his hand. He leaned on the sill with one hand, determined not to let a drop hit the beautiful varnished floor.
When Miles had finished pumping come into him, he slowly withdrew and Pietro caught his breath to feel something smooth and unyielding slide into him. Miles chuckled. “There. You have a nice fat plug to keep all of me in there—until after dinner, of course.”
Pietro stood up, his legs shaking, hand sticky with come. “If you think I’m going to the restaurant with a butt plug in my arse, knowing there’s more fucking on the menu, you have another think coming.” He grinned. “I’m thinking room service.” He reached for a towel to wipe away the sticky fluid.
Miles stretched out on the bed, hand slowly pumping his still half-hard dick. “I like the way you think.” He smiled. “The taxi to take us to the airport arrives at three a.m. Think we’ll be done by then?”
Pietro chuckled. “Maybe?” He walked over to the bed and bent over to kiss Miles. “Like I can ever have enough of you.”
Born and raised in the north-west of England, K.C. WELLS always loved writing. Words were important. Full stop. However, when childhood gave way to adulthood, the writing ceased, as life got in the way. K.C. discovered erotic fiction in 2009, when the purchase of a ménage storyline led to the startling discovery that reading about men in love was damn hot. In 2012, arriving at a really low point in life led to the desperate need to do something creative. An even bigger discovery waited in the wings—writing about men in love was even hotter….
K.C. now writes full-time and is loving every minute of her new career. The laptop still has no idea of what hit it… it only knows that it wants a rest, please. And it now has to get used to the idea that where K.C goes, it goes.
And as for those men in love that she writes about? The list of stories just waiting to be written is getting longer… and longer….
Where to find K.C. Wells:
Facebook Facebook Author Page Twitter: @K_C_Wells
Good day! We are the voices that live inside Will’s head. The ones who whisper to him constantly, beckoning him to speak of our adventures, to tell of our love, and perhaps, if we’re in a mood, kill a person or two.
We guide his hand as he tells our tales where love is the most powerful force, but must be worked for, molded, and finally, embraced. There can be no shortcuts or substitutions on the path to a happily ever after.
We hope you will join with us as Will fulfills his obligation to ensure our stories are told and, we hope, enjoyed.
Where to find Parker Williams:
Twitter: @ParkerWAuthor Facebook Website
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