"Jason, fuck—"
"I've got you."
When I reach his cock, hard and straining against his underwear, I take my time. Pull the fabric down slowly, freeing him. He's thick and flushed, a bead of precum already gathering at the tip, and my mouth waters.
I lick him slow, base to tip, tasting salt and musk and Ash. Learning what makes him gasp—a twist of my tongue just under the head. What makes him groan—taking him deep and swallowing around him. What makes him curse and grip the sheets—pulling off to mouth at his balls before taking him down again.
"Look at me," I say, pulling off just enough to speak. "Watch me suck your cock."
His eyes snap to mine, dark and desperate, and I hold his gaze as I take him deep again. His whole body shudders.
"Fuck, your mouth." His hand tightens in my hair, not pushing, just holding on. "So good. So fucking good. You have any idea what you look like right now? Lips stretched around me, looking up at me like that—"
I hum around him and he breaks off with a curse, his head falling back against the pillow. I work him harder, one hand wrapped around the base, the other reaching down to roll his balls, press behind them. He's leaking steadily now, the taste of him flooding my mouth, and I swallow it down greedily.
"So good," he breathes, and his voice cracks on it. "You're so good to me. So perfect. Don't deserve you."
I pull off just long enough to say, "Yes, you do," and then take him deep again.
He makes a broken sound, hips stuttering up before he catches himself. "Stop. Jason, stop, I want—can you—"
I release him, looking up the length of his body. He's a mess—flushed and panting, one arm thrown over his eyes, heaving for breath.
"What do you want?"
"You." He moves his arm, meets my eyes, and there's desperation in his expression. "Want to be inside you. Want to feel you."
I grab the lube from the nightstand—it lives there now, easy to reach, because this has become routine in the best way—and settle back on my heels between his legs. He watches me slick my fingers, watches me reach back and press one inside myself, and his breath goes ragged.
"Let me—"
"No." I add a second finger, biting my lip at the stretch. "I want to do this. Want you to watch."
"Fuck." He props himself up on his elbows, eyes fixed on where my hand disappears behind me. "That's the hottest thingI've ever seen. You opening yourself up for me. Getting yourself ready for my cock."
I add a third finger and moan, rocking back onto my hand. The angle isn't as good as when he does it, but the way he's looking at me makes up for it—like he's memorizing every expression, every sound, like he wants to burn this image into his brain forever.
"Tell me how it feels," he says, voice rough.
"Full. But not enough." I fuck myself harder on my fingers, letting him see how desperate I am. "Need you. Need your cock inside me."
"Then take it." He wraps his hand around himself, stroking slow, slicking himself with the precum that's dripping steadily from the tip. "Come take what you need."
I pull my fingers free and straddle his hips, reaching back to guide him to my entrance.
I sink down slow.
So slow.
We both groan as he fills me, inch by inch, the stretch and burn melting into pleasure as my body opens for him. I take my time, letting myself adjust, until I'm fully seated with him buried deep inside me.
"God, you feel incredible," he grits out. "So tight. So hot inside. Could stay like this forever."
I stay there for a moment, just feeling him. The fullness, the intimacy of being connected like this, his heartbeat pulsing inside me.
"Okay?" he asks, hands gentle on my hips, thumbs rubbing small circles against my skin.
"Perfect."
