He tastes like salt and musk and something sweeter underneath, something that's just Sam. I take him deeper, letting my tongue drag along the underside, feeling the vein pulse against my lips.
"Oh fuck," Sam chokes out. "Oh fuck, oh fuck—"
I pin his hips down with one hand—he's stronger than he looks, writhing under me—and hollow my cheeks, sucking hard. He wails.
I pull back to tongue at the slit, tasting the bitter-salt of his pre-come, and he sobs my name. His fingers are twisted tight in my hair, and that's good too. The sharp sting grounds me, keeps me present when every instinct is screaming totake, take, take.
"Devan," he gasps. "Your mouth—I can't—you're so—"
He can't finish a sentence. Good. I want to take his words away.
I take him deep again, letting the head of his cock nudge the back of my throat, and swallow around him. The noise he makes isn't even human, a strangled, keening thing that makes my own cock throb in my jeans. His thighs are shaking against my shoulders. I can feel how close he is.
I pull off with a wet pop, and he whimpers at the loss.
"Not yet," I murmur against his hip. "I'm not done with you."
"You're gonna kill me," Sam pants, staring down at me with wild eyes. "Death by blowjob. They'll put it on my tombstone. 'Here lies Sam Sharma, murdered by his mate's mouth.'"
"There are worse ways to go," I say, and take him back in.
When I slip a finger between his legs, touching his hole, he nearly comes off the bed.
"There," he gasps. "Right there, please, don't stop—"
I don't. I ease one finger inside, then two, curling them. He bucks, eyes going wide. All the while, my mouth is on him, bringing him to the edge again and again.
"Devan," he finally sobs, hands fisting in my hair. "Please. I need you inside me. Now."
I pull back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. He's spread out on my navy sheets, flushed and desperate.
"Are you sure?" I ask, even as I'm scrambling out of my own clothes. "We don't have to—"
"If you don't fuck me right now," Sam growls, "I will murder you. And I will get away with it because no jury would convict me."
A laugh bubbles up, surprising both of us. I can't remember the last time I laughed. But Sam does that to me.
Naked, I crawl back over him, settling between his thighs. The first brush of skin on skin sends a jolt through me. He's so hot, so wet, so ready.
"Tell me if it's too much," I whisper, lining myself up.
I push in slowly, watching his face. But there's only wonder and need and a fierce heat.
When I'm fully inside, I have to stop. Close my eyes. Breathe. The tight heat of him. The scent of us together.
"You okay?" Sam asks. "You look like you're doing calculus in your head."
"I'm trying not to come in thirty seconds," I admit.
Sam grins. "That bad?"
"That good. You feel—" I can't find the words. "There's no data for this."
"Fuck the data," Sam says, rolling his hips. We both groan. "Just feel it."
I move. Slow at first, then faster as he urges me on with his hands, his voice, the roll of his hips. The room fills with the sound of skin.
"Mine," I growl against his neck, where my mark is dark against his skin. "You're mine."
