We sit there for a second, tangled in sweat and syrup.
Then, very softly, presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“Next time,” he whispers, “you’ll earn more than just my fingers.”
And I moan. “Can next time be now…?”
He stills. I feel it—every muscle going taut beneath me. His arm tightens around my waist, his other hand frozen mid-movement, syrup cooling on my skin. Then he leans back, just far enough to look down at me. One eyebrow lifts. Like I’m daring him. I am.
I meet his eyes, slow and sure, and then drop my gaze straight to the tented gray fabric I’m sitting on. My lips part, I drag one hand down between us.
“Pup,” he warns, voice already fraying.
But I don’t stop. My fingers hook into the waistband of his sweatpants, slow and teasing. His cock twitches beneath, straining for more. I pull the fabric down just far enough for him to spring free, thick, flushed and ready. I don’t even realize I’ve licked my lips until he growls. And then, with syrup still dripping from my thighs, I trail my fingers back to the plate. One moreswipe through the sticky gold. He watches, eyes dark and locked on mine.
I smear it down his length. He hisses, head tipping back against the couch, his hands tightening on my hips like steel. “Fuck, Elias—”
“I’ll be good,” I whisper. “I swear I’ll be so good.”
My syrup-coated fingers wrap around him. His cock jerks in my grip. “Let me ride you, sir.”
His gaze snaps down. His hand catches my jaw, tilts my mouth up to meet his kiss, rough, claiming and filthy as sin. “Then ride me,” he groans, ragged. “And don’t you dare stop until you scream my name.”
Oh, God.
I line myself up, hands braced on his chest, thighs trembling, still slick with syrup and sweat, and I sink. My mouth drops open on a soundless gasp as Damian stretches me open, thick and hot and already leaking against the mess I made of myself. My hips stutter halfway down, but his hands grip my waist, steady and firm, guiding me the rest of the way.
“Take it,” he growls low. “All the way, pup.”
And I do. I take every inch of him and when I bottom out, my head snaps back, a cry tearing from my throat like he just knocked it loose from my spine.
“Fuck—sir—fuck—” My thighs shake. I feel so full I think I might break apart again just from this.
But Damian just watches.
Syrup still glistens where I dragged it down his cock, now smeared between us, sticky and obscene. He groans when I clench around him, hands digging bruises into my waist. “Fuck, baby,” he says, wrecked.
His thumbs drag up my sides as I start to move, rocking my hips in slow, shivering thrusts, each one pushing me closer tomadness. His cock hits deep, right against the spot that makes me sob, makes me grind harder, chasing it like a drug.
“Sir—please—please—”
“You want the ring, don’t you?” he breathes.
I nod again, faster. My whole body’s vibrating.
“Then show me why you’re worth it.”
I slam down harder with a cry, his cock punching deeper as my hands claw at his chest, desperate for balance—but I’m losing it, unraveling fast beneath the stretch, the heat, him.
Damian leans in, mouth at my neck, lips dragging sweat and syrup from my skin. “Show me you’re mine, Elias.”
And I scream, sinking all the way down as I come again, untouched, broken wide open in his lap.
He doesn’t stop. His hands tighten on my waist, lifting me like I weigh nothing, and I let out a strangled whimper, dripping. I barely have time to blink before he flips me over and presses me down into the couch cushions, chest-first, ass up, legs shaking.
“Sir—wait—”
“No,” he growls, rough with restraint, “you don’t get to stop now. Not after that.”
