“I like it when you’re like this,” he murmurs, voice low, like a confession meant only for me.
My fingers tangle in his hair before I even realize I’ve reached for him. He groans softly into my throat, and I feel myself melt. My other hand slides down his chest, feeling the solid heat of him—alive, hard, real. I lower it further until my fingertips brush over the front of his pants. His hard length is unmistakable, straining against the fabric. The sound he makes in response is raw, guttural, dragged from somewhere deep.
“Stop teasing me,” he breathes, desperate but commanding. “Unbutton the trousers, baby.”
The word—baby—sends a twist of heat through my stomach. I fumble with the button, my hands shaking, as I lower the zip with trembling fingers. Then I pause, my breath catching.
“Take my cock out,” he says. Quiet. Certain. A command that leaves no room to disobey.
I do it. My hands clumsy and awkward under his unrelenting gaze. When I finally free him, my breath stutters. He’s big, bigger than I expected. Thick, hot, heavy in my palm, my fingers barely able to wrap around him. My eyes flick up, a blush blooming in my cheeks, but he only tilts his head, watching me with something dark, proud, possessive.
He steps in closer, guiding me until I’m perched on the edge of the table. Our hips press flush, heat blazing between us. Then his hand wraps around both of us—large, steady, sure.
The sound that leaves me is helpless. His fingers slide over us, stroking, pulling us together in a rhythm that’s maddening,obscene, perfect. Our pre-come mixes, and it makes everything slick, hot, and unbearable.
His mouth finds mine again, hungry and demanding as his hand strokes us both, his cock sliding against mine so perfectly it steals the breath from my lungs.
Stars burst behind my eyes. The sensation dizzying—skin on skin, heat against heat, slick friction that makes every nerve in me light up. The way he touches us feels dangerous, like he knows exactly how to unravel me and won’t stop until he does.
“Fuck… Alex—”
“Yes, baby?” he whispers, voice thick with want as his lips drag along my jaw. “You feel that? You see how good you feel against me?”
I nod helplessly, too lost for words. His hand moves in slow, deliberate strokes—steady, unrelenting, driving me higher with every drag of his thick cock against mine. Both of us hard, leaking, straining, pumping together in his grip. It’s so close, so intimate, I feel like I’m floating outside myself, like he’s pulling me apart piece by piece and holding me together all at once.
My hips betray me, thrusting up into his fist, chasing more of the friction only he can give.
“Just like that,” he murmurs, low and dark, every word dripping with hunger. “Take what you want, beautiful.”
The filth of his voice, the heat in his tone, it crashes through me like lightning. I look up at him, and he’s watching me, of course, he is. He always watches me. Always sees me.
My legs lock tighter around his waist, anchoring myself to him, and I bury my face against his neck, gasping his name, moaning without restraint.
“I’m not—” My voice breaks, fractured and desperate. “I’m not gonna last”
“Look at me, Lucas.”
His voice sharpens, commanding, slicing through my haze.
“Let me see you come apart for me.”
I force my eyes open, lashes fluttering, barely able to focus on him, and the second I meet his gaze, he smiles
“Good boy.” He breathes.
The praise melts through me, weakening me completely.
He kisses me then, hard and hot, tongue sliding against mine, teeth catching on lips. His strokes grow faster, rougher, matching the frantic stutter of my hips. My thighs tremble around him, my breath coming in ragged, broken gasps. He groans into my mouth, needy and raw, as we rut against each other, slick and desperate.
“Come for me,” he growls, forehead pressed tight to mine. “I want to feel you fucking come in my hand.”
The command detonates inside me. My body seizes, hips jerking violently, and a strangled sound tears from my chest as heat bursts through me. My orgasm crashes over me in waves, cum spilling across my stomach, across his hand, messy and hot.
But Alex doesn’t stop. He strokes me through it, ruthless and tender all at once, wringing every last tremor out of me until I’m boneless, gasping, barely able to hold on.
His rhythm falters then, rougher, needier, his breath broken against my mouth.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice strangled—and then he’s spilling, too. Hot and heavy, all over my skin, my cock, his hands.
