I came so hard I saw stars. He didn’t stop, just swallowed, then licked me clean, letting his mouth linger until I was shivering from oversensitivity.
He crawled up the bed, wiped his mouth, and lay beside me, both of us panting. For a long time, neither of us said anything.
When my heart finally slowed, I rolled toward him, pressing my forehead to his shoulder. “You planned that,” I muttered.
He laughed, low and rough. “I’ve had plans for you for years.”
We lay there, not touching but close enough to feel each other’s heat. I listened to his breathing, the steady in and out, and for once I let my mind go blank.
I could have stayed like that forever.
But he wasn’t done with me yet.
My body felt like it had been thrown off a building and then caught midair, every nerve in freefall. Ransom lay on his side, the weight of his arm warm against my chest, but his eyes were wide open. Awake. Watching me.
He didn’t move for a full minute. Just let me sweat, let my heart slow, let me believe maybe this was the end of the experiment and we could both go back to pretending in the morning. But I knew better. Every time I looked at him, he had that same goddamn expression—something between hunger and curiosity, like he was dissecting me with his gaze.
When he did move, it was all at once: he rolled up and straddled me again, pinning my wrists to the bed, his cock hardand shiny with precum. He held me like that, letting the weight of him press me into the mattress, and I felt the aftershocks in my muscles, the trembling in my thighs.
“You think I’m gonna let you tap out after one round?” he murmured, breath hot in my ear. “Not a chance.”
I swallowed, mouth dry. “I don’t recall asking for a rematch.”
He bit my jaw, just enough to leave a mark. “No, but you want one.”
I wanted to argue, but the truth was leaking out of every pore. My cock was already stirring again, pressed awkwardly between us. He felt it, too, and grinned, then ground down slow and mean until I couldn’t do anything but buck up and try not to groan.
He pinned my arms above my head with one hand—strong, calloused, inescapable. The other hand mapped a slow trail down my sternum, then across my ribs, then back up to my chest. He used the pad of his thumb to circle my nipple, slow at first, then faster, until I was arching up into the touch without even thinking.
“You like that, don’t you, Sheriff?” he said, voice pure smoke. He put more pressure on the nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until the sensation burned all the way down my spine.
I clenched my jaw, trying not to make a sound. He pinched harder, and the jolt made my cock twitch.
“Yeah,” he said, satisfied. “You really like it.”
He released my hands, but I didn’t try to move. He braced himself on one forearm, head bent low, and flicked his tongue over the sensitive skin. Licked, sucked, then grazed it with his teeth. The wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of stubble, the pain-pleasure of it all—my vision went white at the edges.
The other nipple got the same treatment. He bit down, not enough to break skin but enough to make me yelp, and then soothed the ache with his tongue. When he glanced up, his eyeswere blown wide, pupils swallowing the brown until only a ring remained. He looked wild, almost feral.
He kissed his way down my torso, pausing to tongue the line of my abs, then dipped lower to mouth at the head of my cock. He didn’t suck me off this time, just teased, licked at the slit, smeared the leaking precum down the shaft with his fist. He squeezed the base, then the balls, rolling them in his palm until I thought I’d lose my mind.
He let go, leaned back, and for a second I thought he might be done. But instead he reached to the floor and picked up his jeans, rummaging in the pocket. He pulled out a small black bottle, the label half rubbed off.
I stared, blood roaring in my ears. “You came prepared.”
He shrugged, casual. “I’m a Boy Scout. I’m always prepared.”
He uncapped the lube, squirted a generous amount onto his fingers, then worked it between his hands like a mechanic greasing up for a particularly tricky repair. The sight of it made my pulse spike. I’d never done this, not even once. The thought was both electric and terrifying.
He noticed my hesitation and softened, just a fraction. “You trust me?”
I nodded, because I did, and that was maybe the most fucked-up part of all.
He slicked his fingers again, then set his left hand on my hip to steady me. His right hand trailed down between my legs, fingers grazing my balls, then lower, pausing at the tight ring of muscle. He circled it, slow and gentle, not pushing, just marking his territory.
“Relax for me,” he said, voice gone low. “Let me in.”
I tried. I really did. But the first pressure of his finger against my ass made me tense all over. He waited, rubbing slow circles on the inside of my thigh until I started to let go.
