"Good." She makes quick work of my belt and zipper, and when she finally frees my cock, her breath catches. "Grayson..."
I'm hard and flushed, my knot already partially swollen at the base. She wraps her hand around my shaft carefully, avoiding the sensitive knot, and I see stars.
"Like this?" she asks.
"Perfect." My voice is wrecked. "Just like that."
She experiments with pressure and speed, watching my face for reactions. It's almost embarrassing how quickly I'm losing control—but the way she's looking at me, focused and determined and a little bit awed, is the hottest thing I've ever seen.
"You're very focused," I manage.
"I'm fascinated." She strokes me again, then lets her fingers ghost over the swollen knot at my base. I buck into her hand with a groan. "Does that feel good?"
"So good."
"It's bigger than I expected," she murmurs, tracing the edge of my knot with curious fingers. "How much does it swell?"
"Twice that size when I'm fully knotted," I grit out. "But you can't—fuck—you can't keep touching it like that or I'm going to come."
"Good." She does it again deliberately, watching my face. "That's the plan."
"Evil woman."
"You like it." When she wraps her hand around my knot and squeezes gently, I nearly come apart. "See? You definitely like it."
"Bea, I'm close?—"
"Good." She focuses on my knot now, learning what pressure makes me gasp, what angle makes my hips jerk. "I want to see you come. Want to feel your knot swell in my hand."
"You're perfect," I groan. "So fucking perfect."
"Keep talking." Her eyes are dark with want. "I like hearing you lose control."
That does it. My knot swells fully in her grip as I come with a growl that's pure alpha, spilling over her hand and my stomach. She works me through it, squeezing my knot gently as it pulses, until I'm boneless and satisfied.
"That was amazing," she breathes, watching my knot slowly deflate in her hand. "You're amazing."
I laugh shakily, reaching for the tissues on the side table. "Pretty sure that was all you."
"We make a good team." She lets me clean us both up, then curls back against my chest.
For a long moment, she's quiet. Just breathing. Then: "You listened."
I glance down at her. "What?"
"When I said I wanted everything off. When I told you what I needed." She traces patterns on my chest with one finger. "You listened. You didn't try to talk me out of it or tell me I didn't know what I wanted. You just... listened."
My chest tightens. "Of course I listened. That's what you're supposed to do."
"Terrance never did." Her voice is soft. "He always thought he knew better. What I wanted, what I needed, what was 'good for me.' Even when we were intimate, it was always on his terms, his timeline."
"That's bullshit."
"I know. But it still feels weird. Good weird." She presses her face against my chest. "Like maybe I don't have to make myself smaller to fit into someone else's idea of what I should be."
"You don't." I run my fingers through her hair. "Not with us. We want you exactly as you are—stubborn, snarky, ambitious, all of it."
She's quiet for another beat. "I'm starting to believe that."
