But then I see him—really see him—and my brain stops working.
His cock is perfect. I can’t help but stare, my breath catching as I measure it against my palm in my mind—not intimidating, but substantial enough that my jaw aches in anticipation. Blood rushes beneath taut skin, flushing the crown to the color of summer wine. A single droplet forms at the slit, catching the dim light of my bedroom. My tongue darts out involuntarily, already imagining the salt-slick taste. When my gaze travels lower, I swallow hard at the way his sac draws tight, nestled in dark curls that trail up to his navel in a perfect arrow pointing the way.
I don’t think. I drop.
My knees hit the hardwood floor hard enough to bruise, but I don’t care because Jackson’s cock is right there, and I need it in my mouth yesterday.
“Drew, what are you—oh, fuck!”
The first taste of him explodes across my tongue—salt and musk and pure Jackson. I take him deep in one go, my throat opening eagerly, and his whole body jerks as if he’s been electrocuted.
“Jesus Christ,” he cries out, his hands immediately flying to my head. His fingers tangle in my hair, not pushing, but holding on for dear life. “Drew, oh my gosh, your mouth.”
I pull back enough to swirl my tongue around the swollen crown, teasing the slit as Jackson moans wantonly. He tastes of salt and skin and anticipation. If I thought about the fact that I could probably get off from the smell of him, I’d come embarrassingly fast and ruin the whole performance. Instead, I double down—flattening my tongue and dragging it along the underside of his shaft, savoring the way his cock pulses with every flick.
“Jesus, Drew,” he grits out, voice shredded. “You’re gonna—shit.”
I don’t let him finish. I take him all the way down until my lips meet the coarse thatch of dark hair at his base. My hand circles his shaft, twisting slightly as I bob my head. His thighs quiver beneath my palm; his stomach muscles clench and release. A broken sound escapes his throat—half-moan, half-whimper—and my chest swells with the knowledge that I’m the one who reduced him to this.
“Fuck, Drew!”
I pull off, teasing the tip of his cock with my lips while using my free hand to tug at his balls gently. They’re heavy and tight against my palm, and the thought of making him come until he sees stars is suddenly the only thing I want in the world. I look up at him again, and this time, his face is so open, so completely undone, my heart splits in two.
That’s when it hits me: this isn’t about getting off. It’s about him and the way he’s staring at me as though I’m the only thing that matters. I want to make him feel good in a way that no one else ever has, and for once, it’s not about the power.
“Drew,” he gasps, his hips move in tiny, aborted thrusts. “I can’t—it’s too good.”
When he gazes down at me with those blown-wide eyes, I know I’m completely fucked. Not just for tonight, but for always.
“You can,” I tell him, my voice wrecked. “You can fuck my mouth, Jacky. I want you to.”
The noise he makes is inhuman. His grip on my hair tightens, and when I open my mouth in invitation, he slides back in with a broken moan.
This time, he doesn’t hold back. His hips move in earnest, fucking into my throat with increasing desperation. I relax my jaw and dig my fingers harder into his ass to encourage him.
“So good,” he babbles, lost in it now. “Your mouth is so fucking good, Drew. Been thinking about this for weeks. Every time you’d smile at me, all I could think about was your lips wrapped around my cock.”
His words shoot straight through me, igniting every nerve ending like a lit fuse. My throat hums with a sound I can’t control, and Jackson’s hips stutter forward as he growls something unintelligible. Between my legs, my cock pulses with each beat of my heart, a steady throb that leaves more wet marks between Jackson’s feet.
I press my palms flat against my thighs, fingers digging into muscle until they leave half-moon imprints in my skin. I stay perfectly still, watching Jackson’s face contort as he loses himself completely.
“Drew,” he warns, his rhythm growing increasingly erratic. “Fuck, I’m close.”
The musky heat of him fills my head, and I let my lips stretch. I want every inch, every desperate twitch, every molecule of Jackson Monroe inside me. I suck hard, then swallow around his cock until he swells impossibly thick in my mouth.
He breaks with a shout, his fingers twisting in my hair, not pulling away but anchoring himself as his thighs quiver against my palms. The first pulse hits the back of my throat, hot and thick, followed by another and another until I’m gulping, eyes watering, the taste of him flooding every corner of my mouth.My vision blurs at the edges, and I can’t tell if it’s from lack of oxygen or from the tears threatening to spill over.
Jackson babbles my name in a frantic, breathless mantra. “Drew, Drew, Drew.”
When he’s done coating my mouth with his seed, he sags backward, catching himself on the dresser with a dull thud and a gasp. His cock is still twitching in my mouth, and I can’t resist teasing it with the flat of my tongue, coaxing the last pearl of liquid from the tip. I roll it around in my mouth before swallowing, wanting to keep the taste of him forever.
Above me, Jackson is completely wrecked—boneless, eyes shut, and lips parted in a dazed, blissed-out smile. My knees ache from the hardwood, and my jaw is numb, but I feel like a fucking champion. I could get used to this—Jackson Monroe melting down for me, on me, because of me.
His cock finally slips from my lips, but I can’t help but give it one last, gentle nuzzle. The hair at his groin is damp with sweat and spit and streaked with paint. I press my cheek to his thigh, breathing him in, and let the moment linger as long as possible. My own cock is still jutting out from my body, wet and angry as I savor the aftershocks dancing through Jackson’s body.
Jackson doesn’t open his eyes for a long time. He merely stands there, one hand braced against the dresser, the other still tangled gently in my hair, holding me close. When he stops trembling, I lean back, feet under my ass and stare up at him. Waiting. Wondering what he’ll say next.
“Drew,” he breathes, and his voice carries a weight that makes my stomach flip. “I want…” He trails off, color flooding his cheeks despite everything I did to him.
