He tenses inside me, his rhythm hitching, the muscles of his stomach and thighs pulled taut beneath my hands. His breath rasps against my neck. We’re both so close.
But I want to give him something. I want to mark this moment of him exposing vulnerability I never expected to discover in his shadows.
“Wait.” I brace against his chest, gasping. “Stop.”
He freezes.
Just like that.
Every inch of him locks in place above me, and uncertainty flickers in his eyes. I catch no hint of anger or even annoyance. No, his expression is much more breakable.
Almost like he’s afraid he’s crossed some invisible line and hurt me in ways he can’t take back.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.
A slow smile, feral and unfamiliar, tugs at my lips. He watches from above, all curiosity, as I twist beneath him, sheets winding with me, silk clinging and slipping against too-hot skin. “My turn.”
I push at his chest until he falls back and reclines on the mattress.
He arches one dark brow. “Your turn?”
“You’ve had enough.” My hands flatten against his chest. “I want to taste you now.”
His eyes widen, the blue deepening to black. He watches me like I’m the only thing in the world, everything about him coiled and absolutely motionless save for the barest flicker of his pulse at his throat.
That heat in his skin radiates up through my hands, then my mouth, as I slide down his body.
Though too masculine and harsh for Hollywood, he’s beautiful in a rugged sort of way. Kirill’s built for violence ratherthan show. Scars map his torso. Textured stories I know nothing about.
Yet.
My tongue follows the lines of his body, tracing that thin trail of hair downward, memorizing the taste and the shape of him one inch at a time.
When I reach that thick cock still coated in my juices, I don’t give him or myself the chance to hesitate.
I take him into my mouth, the motion certain and deliberate, and relish in the delicious groan I drag from him. Under my palm, the muscles in his thighs jerk. His hands twist in the sheets, his fists going bone-white in his effort not to seize control.
I want to snap his restraint and witness him spiraling into nothing just like I did only a few minutes ago.
I slow down so I can draw out every possible reaction. The twitch when I flutter my tongue just right, the way his breathing hitches when I use steady, tight suction, the deep groan he doesn’t bother hiding… Every sound, every reaction, drives me wild.
I keep him right on the brink before pulling back. Let the tension build almost to breaking, then deny him again.
Each time, the frustration thickens. His hand finds my hair, just resting there in a silent warning. But he doesn’t tug or push.
The third time I back away, his control shatters.
“Jordan.”
The ragged plea robs me of breath. I’ve heard my name in his voice before. A threat, a command, an accusation.
But never with raw, naked need.
The tone alone almost undoes me. I lift my head and meet his eyes.
I want him to see what he’s doing, how close I am to falling apart.
“Again.” The word slips out of me, more order than request.
