Nathan's hands stilled. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No." I touched his face, marveling at my own boldness. "I want to overwrite him."
He understood. Rose to kiss me properly, deep and claiming but without force. I could pull away any time. The power of that choice made me dizzy.
"Lie back," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."
I obeyed—choice, not conditioning—settling against his pillows that smelled like him. Safe. Real.
He started at my ankles, kissing up paths that made me squirm. By the time he reached my thighs, I was panting, hands fisted in sheets to keep from yanking him where I needed him.
"Patience," he said against my skin.
"Don't have any." I spread wider, shameless in want. "Need—"
"I know what you need." He held my thighs open, gentle but firm. "I'm going to give it to you. But slowly. I want you to feel everything."
The first touch of his tongue made me arch. He worked me like he had all the time in the world, building pleasure in waves that threatened to drown me. When I got close, he'd back off, kissing my thighs until I calmed enough to start again.
"Please," I gasped after the third denial. "Nathan, please—"
"You're beautiful when you beg." He looked up, meeting my eyes. "But you don't have to. This isn't about earning anything. It's about you feeling good. Just because you deserve to."
The words undid me as much as his mouth returning to that bundle of nerves. I came with something between a sob and a scream, pleasure so intense it bordered pain. He workedme through it, gentle but relentless, until I collapsed boneless against the mattress.
He crawled up my body, kissing paths that made me shiver with aftershocks. When he reached my mouth, I tensed—Gabriel had always been disgusted after, made me wash out my mouth before—
Nathan kissed me deep, sharing my taste between us like communion wine. I made a sound I'd never made before, something vulnerable and grateful and wholly mine.
"Okay?" he asked, pulling back to study my face.
"More than." I touched his cheek, feeling brave. "But you didn't—"
"This was about you."
"I want it to be about us." I shifted, making space between us. "Want to watch you."
His breath caught. "Bunny..."
"Show me." I propped myself on elbows, still liquid from release but hungry for something else. "Want to see you come thinking about how I taste."
"Fuck." He laughed, breathless. "You're going to kill me."
"Small death. You'll recover."
He held my gaze as he unfastened his jeans, shoving them down just enough. Already hard, leaking at the tip from denial and my pleasure. The sight made heat coil fresh in my belly.
"Like this?" He gripped himself, starting slow.
"Yes." I couldn't look away from his hand, his face, the flex of his stomach as pleasure built. "What are you thinking about?"
"You." His voice went rough. "How you looked coming apart. How you tasted. The sounds you made." His hand sped up. "Thinking about next time. How I want to take hours. Map every sensitive spot until you can't remember any touch but mine."
"Nathan..."
"Thinking about—Christ—about how strong you are. How you choose this. Choose me." His breathing went ragged. "Never seen anything as beautiful as you trusting me enough to let go."
He came with my name on his lips, spilling across his stomach in pulses that made me clench on nothing. I watched every second, memorizing the vulnerability of his release, the way his face went open and young in pleasure.
