I was hard. Desperate. Fucked if I didn’t feel tears prick my eyes again because I wanted this so badly. Wantedhim. And it wasn’t only lust. It was goddamnneed.
He rocked into me, slow and deliberate, grindingover my cock in smooth, punishing rolls. My hands curled on his thighs, nails digging in, but I didn’t stop him. Couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
Then he moved.
In increments, Lyric slid from my lap and onto his knees between my legs. His fingers traced the waistband of my sweats, and before I could blink, he tugged them down enough to free my cock. The cool air kissed my skin, and I shuddered, breath catching in my throat. I’d been sweaty from the fight; there could be blood there could be…
I reached to stop him, instinct more than thought, but he glanced up—eyes fierce—and said, “Hands by your sides, big guy.”
That voice. Fuck.
I dropped my hands, every muscle tight with restraint. He wrapped one hand around me, firm but reverent, and the first pass of his tongue made my vision blur.
“You smell so fucking good,” he rasped. Surely I was all sweat and funk and… fuck…
He didn’t tease. He wasn’t tentative. He sucked me deep, his hot mouth pulling me in, his tongue working with deliberate precision. It was too much. Not enough. I choked out his name, hips jerking despite the ache in my ribs, and he pressed hishands to my thighs, holding me down, taking me deeper.
I wanted to collapse into him, to fist his hair, to lose myself in the slick, perfect heat of his mouth—but I didn’t move. Not when he was giving me this. Not when he was fucking owning me.
And he was. Every swirl of his tongue, every hungry pull—he was undoing me completely.
Then his hands moved lower.
Warm fingers skimmed the underside of my cock, gentle at first, then firmer, more demanding. One hand cupped my balls, weighing them in his palm, rolling them with just the right amount of pressure. I groaned—a raw, guttural sound—and my hips lifted before I could stop them. He growled a warning, mouth still full of me, and I forced myself to sink back into the chair, fingers twitching at my sides.
“Fuck, Lyric,” I rasped, voice thick.
His response was a hum of satisfaction, and the vibration traveled straight through me. My thighs trembled, every nerve ending lit and fraying, and I couldn’t stop watching him—his dark hair messy, mouth stretched wide around me, hand stroking, teasing, controlling.
He pulled back, tongue flicking the head, eyes locked on mine.
“You gonna come for me?” he whispered.
I barely managed a nod, breath hitching, pressure winding tight in my spine. Every wet glide of his mouth was heaven and heat and hell. And I was so fucking close I couldn’t breathe.
“Lyric, I’m?—”
He pulled off with a wet sound, fingers twisting around me with a steady rhythm, and looked up. His mouth was wet, eyes darker than sin, and that smirk—fuck.
“Handsstayby your sides,” he murmured, low and commanding.
Then he leaned in, tongue flicking one last time across the sensitive head as he squeezed, and that was it. I was gone.
I came hard, hips bucking, warmth spilling across my belly in thick pulses as Lyric kept stroking, his other hand cradling my balls. I cried out, something strangled and ruined, and it felt as if I’d been torn open and rebuilt in the same goddamn breath.
I sagged against the chair, boneless, chest heaving, vision blurred around the edges. He loosened his grip, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stared up at me as though he’d won a fight I hadn’t known I was in.
Then he used my thighs to steady himself, pushedupright with grace and effort, and leaned in again. His fingers curled around the waistband of my sweats, tugging them back into place with ease.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached in, wrapped a hand around his cock, and said, “Your turn to watch.”
He didn’t wait for permission.
He stroked himself with fast, firm jerks, his breath stuttering as he stared down at me. I lifted my shirt out of the way, needing to feel it when he came, needing to bemarked. His body arched, and with a shudder and a choked groan, he came, hot and messy, over my belly.
Before I could say a word, Lyric dipped his fingers into the slick mess, dragging them slowly through it as if he was painting. Then he brought one to my lips, eyes locked with mine. “Open,” he said, soft but sure.
I did exactly what he said.
