“Please,” I whisper, my voice like gravel. “God, Tanner.” Without pausing to think, I stick my hand under the waistband of my underwear, clumsily pushing them down on the one side I can reach, ignoring the stab of pain that shoots through my chest and shoulder as my core muscles engage.
He lifts his head, and the grin on his face lights me up from the inside out, even with the pain radiating from my fucked up shoulder.
“So impatient,” he murmurs, clucking his tongue as he hooks his fingers under the waistband and drags them down. My cock springs free, and he looks at it for a long moment before shifting his gaze up to my eyes and licking his lips. “You have a gorgeous cock,” he whispers. “I never let myself imagine you hard. If I did, I’d end up with a hard-on in the showers.”
I groan again. I can’t believe how hot it is to hear those words from his mouth.
When he finally lowers his head, he drags his tongue up the side of my cock, licking it like it’s a popsicle. My hips buck off the mattress involuntarily.
“Fuck,” I hiss, pain shooting through my chest again.
“Is it too much?” he asks softly, raising his head. “We can stop.”
“Fuck no, don’t you dare fucking stop,” I gasp. “I just have to try to keep still.”
“Mmm.” He gets a wicked gleam in those blue eyes, one side of his mouth curling into a smirk I’ve never seen on him before. “I can help with that.”
He takes hold of both my hips with his big hands, pinning me in place before lowering his head again, taking my cock fully into his mouth all at once.
“Oh, god,” I whimper. The searing heat of his mouth is a shock against the cold radiating from the ice pack on my shoulder. The contrast sharpens every nerve ending.
He takes his time, learning the terrain of my body. It’s agonizingly slow and focused. It’s meticulous, just like everything Tanner Sinclair does.
I force my eyes open, and the visual hits me harder than the physical pleasure. Tanner, the golden boy, the rookie who’s been driving me crazy for months, on his knees between my legs, swallowing around my cock.
His eyes are squeezed shut, his brows drawn together in concentration, before he opens them and looks up, his eyes meeting mine. Their normal icy-blue color is darkened, dilated with pleasure and heat.
“That’s it,” I groan, my voice sounding wrecked. “Fuck, Sinc, that’s so good.”
It’s incredible. I’ve had more than my share of blowjobs over the years, but this, what Tanner Sinclair is doing to me, is next-level. I’ve been with women my whole life. I know their softness, their gentle curves.
This is completely different. It’s not that he’s rough—he’s taking care not to hurt me—but something about the strength of a man’s body, the roughness of his stubble and the solid weight of him, it’s like it’s somehowmore.My hunger for him is sharper than anything I’ve felt before. It’s like it’s not only physical; it’s a transference of energy between bodies of equal strength. I want to take everything he’s giving me and more. He’s pouring everything he has into me, and I’m drinking it in.
He makes a low noise in his throat, and the vibration reaches all the way to my toes. Then he takes me even deeper.
His throat bobs, his hands gripping my hips, anchoring me in place. That self-defeating loop in his head telling him he messed up is being overwritten, beat by beat, with this. With us.
“Yes,” I praise him, grabbing a handful of the sheet with my good hand. “You’re incredible. God, Tanner.”
He picks up the pace, sensing I’m close. The friction, the heat, the wet slide of his mouth—it’s all too much. My world narrows down to the feeling of his mouth on my cock. The pain in my shoulder disappears, drowned out by the roar of blood in my ears.
“Tanner, I’m gonna come.”
He doesn’t stop; he works harder, swallowing me down and taking everything I have to give.
My orgasm hits hard, my core muscles contracting and sending another sharp flare of pain through my chest and shoulder, but I don’t care. It’s almost like the pain grounds me, because without it, this pleasure might shatter me into a million tiny pieces.
I slump back into the pillows, gasping for air, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Tanner pulls back slowly. He’s messy and flushed, but his eyes sparkle as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest heaving. He looks beautifully wrecked.
“You okay?” I wheeze.
He nods, staring at me with wide, blown pupils. “I should be asking you that,” he says with another smirk.
“I’m good. So good,” I murmur. But then it hits me that there’s not much I can do to reciprocate. “Shit,” I whisper. “What about you? What can I do for you?”
“It’s okay,” he says, looking down.
