“I don’t even need lube to stroke your pretty cock” I breathe, watching him fall apart beneath my touch. “Look at you.”
“Oh shit,” he gasps, his voice breathless, strained, like he’s holding on by a thread. “Alex… please. Please.”
That’s all I need.
I smirk, voice rough with restraint.
“Alright,” I murmur, reaching for the drawer beside the bed. I take out a bottle of lube.
“Put your foot flat on the bed,” I tell him, tone firm. “Open your legs wide for me.”
I don’t know if it’s the command in my voice or the way I’m looking at him like I want to eat him alive, but he follows without hesitation. There’s a flush crawling over his cheeks as he spreads wide for me—bare, gorgeous, vulnerable.
“Good boy,” I rasp, and fuck if he doesn’t flush deeper at that. I grab a pillow and tap his hip. “Lift.”
He does so obediently, so fucking beautiful, and I slip the pillow beneath the curve of his lower back, tilting his hips up just right. The sight of him like this, laid open for me, skin flushed, cock leaking, lips parted in anticipation, makes my breath catch.
I wrap my hand around him again, stroking from base to tip with more urgency now. His hips jerk, desperate, but I pin them down with my free hand, watching the way he writhes completely undone, gasping, moaning. Every sound he makes is perfect. Every twitch of his body is a plea I can feel in my bones.
And just as I lower my head, ready to take him into my mouth, his body tenses, so sudden and sharp that his hands grip my wrist tightly.
“Wait,” he says, there’s a tremble to his voice now, not one of arousal but more like fear. “Please wait.”
I freeze instantly, my lips hovering above his skin. My hands stay where they are. His eyes are wide now, panic creeping into their edges like shadows at dusk. His dick—hard and flushed a moment ago—is starting to soften in my hands, and I don’t miss the way he swallows like he’s forcing something down.
I ease my other hand off his hips and cup his wrist gently, coaxing his grip to loosen without force.
“Hey,” I murmur, voice low and calming, “what’s wrong?”
He bites his lip, averting his gaze. There’s a war going on in his head. I can see it. Like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how. Like the words might choke him.
“I can’t…” he mumbles, then stops himself. His jaw clenches. “I can’t do it to you. I won’t be able to.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
His voice is thin, barely audible.
“If you… You go down on me. I won’t be able to return it. I don’t… I don’t think I can ever do that.”
The words come out broken, soft, like they hurt to say. And for a moment, I just stare at him, at the way his fingers tighten around the sheets, the way his chest rises too fast, like he’s bracing for something worse. His shoulders are curled inward, protective. Defensive.
I hadn’t expected him to return the favor. Hell, I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. One look at that mouth—small, pink, too damn pretty, and I know I could never make a mess out of it if it isn’t what he wants. But it’s more than that. The way he panicked. The way just thinking about it sent him into this spiral, like the act itself touches something darker he hasn’t told me.
I want to ask. I want to dig and understand what he’s actually scared of, but not now, not like this. I’m not going to let this moment become something else he has to survive.
So I move gently, sliding closer and cupping his face. My thumb brushes over the heat of his cheek, and his eyes flick to mine, wide and glassy. There’s still panic there, but beneath it is something else. Something softer. Like he’s looking at me like I might save him without even trying.
“Baby,” I say, and it breaks something in him. His breath catches, and I see it, that flicker of hope like he didn’t think I’d still call him that. Does he think I’ll get mad at him?
I tilt my forehead against his, voice low, honest.
“I’m not doing this because I expect anything from you.” I pause, letting the words settle between us, hoping they land in the space that’s still shaking inside him.
“I’m doing this because I like you, Lucas. Because I want you. Not just your body, not some fantasy of what you think you’re supposed to give me.” I stroke my thumb along the edge of his jaw, grounding both of us. “You let me in. You let me see you. And that’s more than enough. You don’t owe me a damn thing.”
His breath shudders against my skin. He doesn’t speak, but I feel it in the way he leans into my touch, how his body slowly unwinds, how the war in his eyes starts to quiet.
“If you can’t ever do it… I still want you,” I say, looking deep into his eyes and showing him just how much I mean it. “I want you soft and trembling and flushed like this. I want to make you feel good just because I can, and because you deserve to be touched right, let me take care of you, krasivy, and all I want you to do is just lie here and be my pillow princess.”
