Then he nods. Just once. A tiny surrender.
"Good," I breathe. "That's it."
I release his wrists. He leaves them where they are, spread out on the sheets like an offering. His hands could wrap all the way around my waist if he wanted. Instead, they're open, palms up, giving me everything.
The trust in that makes my chest ache.
I take my time with his shirt, undoing each remaining button slowly, spreading the fabric open. His chest is broad, solid, lightly furred with dark hair that trails down toward his waistband. I have to stretch to reach his shoulders as I push the shirt off, reminded again of just how much bigger he is than me.
And he's letting me have this. Letting me run the show.
I lean down and press a kiss to his sternum. He inhales sharply.
"You were so good today," I murmur against his skin. I kiss lower, trailing down his stomach, feeling the muscles jump under my lips. "Walking into that room with me. Knowing what they were going to ask us to do."
"Sam—"
"And when you critiqued me..." I reach his waistband, looking up at him. From this angle, he looks massive—shouldersspanning the narrow bed, chest heaving. "When you actually did it, actually fought back... do you know what that did to me?"
He shakes his head, eyes locked on mine.
"Made me so fucking hot," I tell him. I pop the button of his pants. Drag the zipper down. "Made me want to drag you out of that room and climb you like a tree."
A choked laugh escapes him. "Climb me like a—"
"Shut up. It's a compliment." I yank his pants and boxers down. His cock springs free, flushed and hard and leaking at the tip. I wrap my hand around him and stroke once, slow.
Devan's hips buck off the mattress. A broken sound escapes his throat.
"But now?" I keep stroking, lazy and unhurried, watching his face. "Now we're done fighting. Now I get to be nice to you."
"Please," he whispers.
"Please what?"
His jaw clenches. He's not used to asking. Not used to begging. That's usually my job.
"Tell me," I coax, squeezing just a little tighter. "Use your words."
"Your mouth," he grits out. "Please. Sam. I need—"
"Yeah?" I grin. "Since you asked so nice."
I lower my head and take him in.
He groans, loud and unrestrained, his hands fisting in the sheets. I take my time—long, slow licks from base to tip, swirling my tongue around the head, sucking gently before pulling off to mouth at the side.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck, that's—"
I pull off completely. He whines at the loss.
"Not yet," I tell him. "I'm not done with you."
I shimmy out of my own pants and underwear, kicking them off the edge of the bed. I'm hard too, aching, but I ignore it. This isn't about me.
I crawl back up his body. It takes a while—he's so fucking tall, miles of skin and muscle—and I drag my lips up his stomach, his chest, his neck as I go. When I finally reach his mouth, I'm straddling his hips, his cock pressed against my ass.
We both shudder.
