“Xander…”
“Shhh, I’m going to feed you my cock for a bit. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
If it was possible to get harder, I didn’t know how. I didn’t know anything except how to nod for him.
Behind my head, he adjusted a few pillows, ensuring the angle was just right for me to take his—fuck I was going to die. My thoughts were sluggish and tinged in a warm, flossy glow. Every single word, every single action, brought me closer to my ultimate state, a babbling, mindless mess devoted to nothing but sucking, fucking, worshiping this man.
Warm hands found my shoulders and squeezed. “Still fine?” he asked, tone different, severe.
He wanted an actual answer. I swam to the surface of the sensual pool I’d melted into the bottom of to consider properly. My shoulders were stiff, tight, but with lust not discomfort. My wrists chafed against the fabric that bound them, but the bite was pleasant. “Yes, yes,” I choked out.
“Good, because you’re going to look so pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock. And I wouldn’t want to be interrupted.”
My descent back to the depths of loving depravity began with those two sentences but was seemingly endless. Why did my gut twist and flip in ecstasy every time he called me pretty? And why was it so damn obvious, if his smirk was any indication?
He adjusted so he knelt overtop me, one foot by my ear, the other knee by my shoulder, and his perfect cockright there. I strained, trying to reach the hard flesh with mouthwatering desperation.
Hushing me again, his thumbs dragged over my burning cheeks. “Every time I think it’s not possible for you to be any prettier, you manage it.”
And then, finally, at last, his delicate flesh met my lips. His cock was weeping and I allowed myself a brief revelry in the knowledge that he was as affected as I was, swirling my tongue to gather the evidence.
“Oh, no. We’re not doing that. You’re going to lay there and take what I give you like a good boy.”
Fuck!
Objectively, he was being quite gentle, loving, with me, fucking my mouth in slow, shallow thrusts while he braced against the very headboard I was tied to. But the lack of agency, of control, was intoxicating. My only responsibility was to lay here and allow the man I loved to find his pleasure with and in my body. I was there to be pretty, to be good, for him.
“You’re doing so well.”
My eyes fluttered shut at the praise, letting it seep into my skin, become a part of me, until it was a fundamental truth of my being.
“Eyes on me,” he demanded. They snapped open instantly, eager to fulfill his every whim. “Do you see what you do to me?”
I had been falling, lost in a sea of sensation and dizzy thoughts. But Xander… The telltale splotchy darkening of flesh that indicated a flush, covered every sinewy muscle of his chest, his abdomen, his arms, the lines of his cheek. His eyes, too, were black as pitch, swallowed by his pupils. Those lips, so recently wrapped around my cock, were parted, damp. Sweat glistened at his temple, sliding in rivulets to land on his chest. A few drops were navigating the forest of hair to trail down, down, down. I hoped they would land on me. And his cock, his beautiful cock, was impossibly hard and weeping—for me.
“You see now, you see how perfect you are for me?” He must have sensed my nod because he buried himself to the hilt and paused there before pulling out of my mouth. I chased after him, earning a condescending chuckle that had my cock twitching.
“We’ll give your pretty mouth a break. Play with your pretty hole.”
The sound that escaped my chest was unrecognizable. My lungs fought for air, but it seemed no matter how great my gulps, it was never enough.
He slid to the side and down my body. Once there, he tapped my knees, not that I needed encouragement to open for him. His hands drew soothing lines down my trembling thighs as he settled between them.
“You don’t even need oil, do you? You’re still dripping my spend.”
“No, no, I don’t need it.” My voice was rattled and hoarse.
“What do you think, should I fuck you every morning so you can go about each day with the evidence of my desire leaking out of you? Would that help you remember that you’re wanted, needed, essential?”
“Yes, God yes!”
He hummed, then slipped a too-light hand along the crevice of my arse. And then, without a hint of his usual warning, he slid two fingers inside.
“Fuck!”
“I don’t have to warm you up. You’re already stretched for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes.” I babbled, hips circling as he probed for the spot. The spot that usually left me in this wanton, pleading state. What would it do to me when he located it and I was already there?
