“Nico, I’m going to—”
“Good,” he growls against me. “Do it. Cum all over my fucking face.”
And I do. Right there against my wall, with his mouth on me and my fingers tangled in his hair and my brain completely offline.
When I come back to myself, I’m shaking and he’s still there, kissing my thigh, my hip,my stomach. Working his way back up my body like he has all the time in the world.
“That was—” I try.
“Just the first one,” he says.
The first one.
Oh.
Oh good.
He stands, and suddenly I’m reminded exactly how much taller he is than me. I’m barefoot now so the difference is even more pronounced. He literally towers over me, all broad shoulders and barely contained intensity, and I feel small and delicate in comparison.
Then he’s kissing me again and I can taste myself on his tongue and that should be weird but instead it’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.
“Bedroom?” he murmurs against my mouth.
I gesture vaguely toward the only other room in my four-hundred-fifty-square-foot studio. “There.”
He glances over and I watch his eyes take in my entire life in one sweep. The bed with the thrifted frame and the white linens I make every morning. The small bookshelf crammed with grad school textbooks and romance novels I’m not embarrassed about. The desk by the window with my color-coded filing system.
“Perfect,” he says.
Liar.
But he’s already moving, guiding me backward toward the bed with his hands on my waist, and I’m too far gone to argue.
We stop at the edge of the mattress and hefinallystarts undressing.
The jacket comes off first. Then he’s unbuttoning his shirt and oh sweet mother of god.
He’s all lean muscle and controlled strength. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. The defined V of his hips disappearing into his pants. A light dusting of hair across his chest that I suddenly have very specific plans for.
And his cock... because he just unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants... his cock is thick and heavy and...
Absolutely perfect.
My breath catches.
He notices. Of course he notices. The corner of his mouth kicks up in a devastating almost-smile and he wraps one hand around himself, stroking slowly while maintaining eye contact. A pearl of pre-cum beads and the swollen tip.
“You see that?” he says. Not really a question. More like a demand for acknowledgment.
I nod because words have abandoned me entirely.
“That’s for you,” he replies as I swallow hungrily.
He reaches for his wallet, pulls out a condom, and tears it open dramatically with his teeth. I watch him roll it on, watch his jaw clench with control, watch the way his hand moves over himself once, twice.
Oh God I am in so, so much trouble.
Then he’s on me. Over me. In me.
