I feel it—the way he’s spiraling, muscles tightening, hips twitching like he’s fighting the edge. Trying to hold on.
“Dante—” he whimpers.
But I pull back.
Lick my lips. Sit back on my heels.
His body jolts, instinctively pushing back toward me, but I grip his hips and hold him still.
“Not yet,” I murmur, voice thick. “You’ll come when I say. When I decide you’re ready to let go.”
His breath hiccups—a sound caught between surrender and torment—and it sounds beautiful.
Because tonight, I’m not just giving him pleasure.
I’m remaking him.
I don’t give him time to overthink.
One breath later, I shift—gripping Grant beneath his hips and flipping him with ease, holding him nearly upside down, his shoulders and head brushing the floor while I stay kneeling, seated back on my heels.
His ass is right in my face. A gift. A fucking altar.
“Open those whore legs for me,” I rasp, voice wrecked with want. “Let me keep eating what’s mine.”
Grant moans, low and broken, as his thighs fall apart helplessly, spread wide with nowhere to go. He’s suspended—his body arched and hanging in my grip, every muscle taut with anticipation, every inch of him mine.
Obscene. Perfect.
I don’t wait. I dive in.
My tongue slides over him again, deeper this time, hungrier. I lap and lick and groan into his flesh as I rim him open, working him loose with slow, deliberate strokes. He’s shakingnow, sobbing breathless moans into the floor as I suck his balls into my mouth, one at a time, lavishing them with wet heat until he’s delirious.
“Dante—fuck, don’t stop—please don’t stop,” he pants, voice cracked and begging.
“I’m not stopping,” I growl against him. “Not until I taste every inch of you. Until you forget anything but my mouth and what it’s doing to you.”
I devour him like he’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.
His cock is leaking, twitching untouched, and I know he’s close—too close—so I ease him down, just enough to shift, not enough to give him relief.
He whines when I let go, and I smile.
I push him gently back, keeping his legs spread, his body trembling with need as I reach for the button of my slacks. One flick, then another, and I free myself—my cock springing forward, hard and aching.
“Hold on,” I tell him, wrapping one of his thighs in my hand. “Keep your legs open. I want you to watch.”
He obeys, breath hitching as I slide between his thighs, my cock dragging over his balls, over the spit-slick stretch of his skin. I align our cocks—his flushed and dripping beneath mine, both of them thick and swollen, pointing toward his face in the mirror.
He holds himself inverted with a grip on my legs. With both hands, I take our cocks, side by side and hard as fuck. I stroke us slow, long pulls. Then harder.
“Look at that,” I murmur, eyes locked on the mirror. “Look at what you do to me. How hard I get just touching you. Just hearing those filthy little moans.”
Grant groans, loud and desperate. His hands dig into the pillows as he bucks into my fist.
“You like this?” I ask, stroking them both in long, possessive strokes. “You like when I rub our cocks together like this? Make you feel every inch of what you do to me?”
“Y-yes,” he chokes. “Feels so fucking good, Dante—don’t stop.”
