He takes a moment to accept the proffered piece of baguette, eyes running up and down Claude’s now-naked body. Delicious, like he said. He should probably check his phone for messages or e-mails but truth be told, knowing what he knows about his current job, he’d rather just stay here. With Claude’s naked arse right in his line of vision. Mmm.

Taking the bread (typical French eggs, by the way – been a while since he had those), he shifts backwards a little, the sheet covering his hips slipping down a fraction or two. Or three. “Haven’t had real breakfast in ages,” he says and bites into the bread. Shit, it’s all warm. And the eggs are soft and squishy. This man’s a good cook – and a good cock, now he’s at it. He rarely meets men who care about quality over quantity when it comes to food; not enough, at least, to serve home-made breakfast for their latest weekend-fuck. “You’ve gone to some trouble, Claude.”