He groans, his fists clenching at his sides like he’s afraid that if he touches me, he’ll lose whatever fragile restraint he’s holding onto.
“KitKat...” His voice is strained, desperate. “Baby, you don’t have to—”
But I’m already leaning in, pressing my lips to him through the fabric. Soft, exploring kisses that trace the shape of him. He jerks against my mouth, a strangled sound escaping him.
“I want to,” I whisper against him, and I do. I want to make him feel the way he made me feel in that alley with his fingers inside me. I want to unravel him completely, as he did to me. “Let me.”
His head tips back against the door, jaw clenching like he’s in pain. His fingers twitch, curl into white knuckled fists, and I can see the war happening in him—the desire to stop me, pull me up, protect me from feeling like I have to do this…. and battling against the desperate need to let me continue.
I know he needs this, too. And ultimately, need wins.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and slowly pull them down along with his pants.
He springs free, and my belly flips at the size of him.
He’s beautiful.
Hard and thick and flushed dark with arousal. I can see his pulse throbbing, can see the bead of moisture at the tip. He’s bigger than I expected—not that I have much basis for comparison, but men’s ballet tights don’t exactly keep much for the imagination, and many don’t have any issue with changing out in the open backstage—but none of them have been as impressive as Scottie, and for a second, nervousness flutters in my chest.
But then he makes a broken sound above me, and my inexperience outweighs my need to taste him.
I wrap my fingers around his shaft… hot and silky-smooth, and impossibly hard. He hisses through his teeth.
“You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?” he groans.
The idea that I can make someone as strong and controlled as Scottie look like he’s coming apart thrills me in a way I’ve neverfelt before. I might not be experienced, but I have power here. And I want to use it.
I lean in, guiding him to my lips until they connect.
His breath punches out of him, his hips shifting forward before he can stop himself, and one hand finally slides into my hair with a broken sound like he’s losing his mind.
I open my mouth and take him in.
The taste of him floods my senses—salt and skin and pure male—and I hear him curse above me, his fingers tightening in my hair.
I start slowly, using my tongue to explore him, learning the shape and texture of him. The prominent vein along the underside. The way he pulses against my tongue. The contrast between the smooth head and the rigid shaft.
“Jesus, Kat...” He’s trembling now, the muscles in his thighs jumping under my free hand. “Your mouth... fuck, your mouth feels so good.”
The praise makes me bolder.
I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, tricks I’ve heard dancers talk about between rehearsals, using my hand to stroke what won’t fit in my mouth. I find a rhythm—slow and deliberate—that has him gasping my name like a prayer.
His hand in my hair guides me gently, not controlling, just holding on like I’m his anchor.
I look up at him. The sight nearly undoes me.
He’s watching me, pupils dilated and dark, but the hazel ring in his eyes is bright, locked onto mine. His chest heaves beneath his shirt. His face is flushed, his lips parted, and I can see that he’s desperately trying to hold on to control.
The look on his face… pure, unfiltered need mixed with something tender, sends a pulse of heat straight between my thighs. I can feel how wet I am, can feel my body responding to the act of pleasuring him.
“God, look at you,” he breathes. “So, fucking beautiful like this.”
His words make me moan around him, the vibration making him jerk and curse. I increase my pace, encouraged by his reactions. Every groan, every whispered curse, every time his hips flex forward involuntarily… it all fuels me. My jaw aches slightly, but I don’t care. I’m drunk on the taste of him, on the power of reducing him to nothing but sensation and need.
“Kat... baby...” His voice is wrecked now, desperate. “If you don’t slow down, I’m going to come. I’m going to come down your throat.”
The thought sends another rush of arousal through me, my panties now soaked, my inner thighs slick. I want it. Want to taste him, to feel him lose control because of me.
