Noted.
He practically chokes on a breath as I circle my fingers around his cock again, pumping him slowly as I press my lips to his ear once more. “Did you like that?”
Tate hums, but it’s caught in his throat.
“Me telling you how good you’re doing,” I breathe. “You like being told what a good boy you are?”
His whimper is strangled as he nods frantically, his hips bucking to meet my strokes now, chasing his release.
“I’m c-close, Maeve. I’m gonna?—”
“Come for me,” I pant, kissing his ear, then his cheek. “Please, Tate. Be a good boy and come for me.”
The ragged little whimpers that leave his mouth as he reaches his climax are like music to my ears. I can feel myarousal pooling in my panties as I listen to him whine for me, his cum shooting out over my hand that’s still fisted around his cock and his ridged stomach, which twitches with every jerk. He paints his chiseled abdomen in ropes of white, and it’s a fucking sight.
I’ve never felt so empowered like this, having someone come undone in my arms, inmyhands. Whimpering like that forme. I didn’t realize that was something I liked at all.
I hold him like this for a few minutes, watching as his chest goes from heavy pants to a more shallow, quick movement. His heart still pounds underneath my palm as he comes down from his orgasm high, and I wonder how he’s feeling. How all of this was for him. I was the first person to ever give him an orgasm; that’s kind of a huge deal.
“How are you feeling?” I ask gently, finally bringing my head from pressing against his to look down at his face.
“Lucky.” He sighs.
Sweet, sweet boy.
This man is too sweet for his own good.
I laugh softly, removing myself from under his body carefully as he slides further down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling in almost a daze. “Stay here. I’ll clean you up.”
Tiptoeing into the bathroom, I peek over my shoulder to see him still lying there, his hands splayed out next to him. The sight makes me giggle quietly, washing my hands before grabbing the hand towel hanging on the hook next to the sink and wetting it with warm water.
When I return, he’s still laying there, unmoving, just blinking slowly. I don’t think he’s even looking at anything. His eyes are far away, wherever his mind is.
“Here,” I murmur weakly, pressing the warm rag to his chest and sliding it down gently, cleaning him up with slow, methodical movements.
Something has shifted, I can feel it. At least for me, it has. I can feel my own heart pounding in my chest, and I didn’t even have an orgasm. His eyes observe me as I wipe him off, but I don’t meet his gaze. Not yet. I want to soak in this tiny blissful bubble for a few more seconds before I have to come to terms with this being either the worst thing that’s happened to him or the best.
“Maeve,” he says.
I hum.
“What about…you?”
Something about those words sent a jolt of heat straight between my legs.
I stop my movements, peering up at him hesitantly. “What about me?”
His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, his eyes having a hard time meeting my gaze as he says, “Shouldn’t, uh, you get a turn?”
Tossing the wet rag into the dirty clothes hamper, I crawl onto the bed next to him, laying on my stomach as I rest my chin on his damp chest. The movement makes his eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he relaxes.
“I’m okay. This was for you. I want to…go slow. I don’t want to move too fast. I want you to be able to process.”
I want to make sure you don’t regret me.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “You could show me… You know, how to?—”
“You know I’m not declining because I think you’d be bad at it, right?” I ask, my brows knitting together as I peer at him from my spot on his chest. “That’s not it at all. I just… I want to make sure you’re okay, Tatum. I want you to feel like you made the right decision tonight.”
