"I want to try again."
"We don't have to?—"
"I want to." He met my eyes, and beneath the lingering vulnerability, I saw determination. "I'm not going to let him win. Not with you."
"Axel—"
He kissed me. Deep, thorough, consuming. When he pulled back, his grey eyes were clear.
"Please, Kai. Let me try again."
This time was different.
He kept his eyes open. Kept them locked on mine as I kissed my way back down his body. When I took him in my mouth, he watched—every movement, every reaction, like he was imprinting the image over whatever toxic memories his father had left behind.
"That's it," I murmured against his hip. "Stay with me. See how good this is?"
"Yes." His voice was hoarse but steady. "I see."
I took him deep again, and this time when his hips rolled, there was no panic. Just pleasure—raw and honest and long-denied. His moans filled the room, unashamed, each one a middle finger to the dead man who'd tried to beat this part of him into silence.
"I'm close," he warned. "Kai, I'm?—"
I didn't stop. Hollowed my cheeks, sucked harder, worked him with my hand and my mouth until I felt his thighs tense, his breath stutter…
He came with a shout, back arching off the bed. I took everything he gave me, swallowed around him, worked him through it until he was twitching with oversensitivity. Only then did I pull off, pressing a kiss to his hip bone before crawling back up his body.
His eyes were glazed, his chest heaving. He looked demolished in the best possible way.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
I grinned. "Good?"
"Good?" He laughed—an actual laugh, surprised and joyful and free in a way I'd never heard from him. "That was—I don't have words."
"Then don't use them."
He pulled me down into a kiss. I expected gentle, grateful. Instead, he flipped us—suddenly I was on my back, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his mouth hot and demanding on mine.
"Your turn," he growled against my lips.
"You don't have to?—"
"I want to." His hand wrapped around my cock, and I gasped. "Tell me how. Show me what you like."
I guided his hand, set the rhythm, whispered praise and encouragement as he learned my body the way I'd learned his. He was focused, intense, cataloging every sound I made. When I was close, when I warned him, he didn't stop—just stroked faster, harder, his grey eyes burning into mine.
"Come for me," he said. "I want to watch you fall apart."
I did. Harder than I could remember, his name on my lips, my release spilling over his fist and my abs. He worked me through it, gentled me down, then stared at his hand like he'd just discovered something miraculous.
"That was..." He trailed off, at a loss.
"Yeah." I pulled him up, tucked him against my side. "It was."
We lay tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin.
His hand traced idle patterns on my chest, over my heart. I played with his hair, still marveling at how soft it was despite the military-short cut.
