His fingers flex subtly against my thighs. His head dips lower, lips ghosting just over the damp cotton, the tempting warmth of his breath searing me.
Then he whispers, broken and pleading, “Please, Gabe. Please let me kiss you.”
I groan, my head tipping back, heart hammering so hard it hurts. “Yes,” I rasp. “Please.”
Damn. I was not supposed to be the one begging. The sound he makes is half a laugh, half a growl, then he leans in and mouths at my cock—right over the material of my briefs. My hips jerk helplessly.
His fingers keep flexing against my thighs like he’s fighting the urge to justtake. But he doesn’t. He waits, like he’s savoring this as much as I am.
His hands move to the waistband of my briefs. He hooks his thumbs there, his knuckles brushing my hips, and I whimper. He looks up at me as he peels them down.
“Fuck, I love you,” he says so softly I don’t think he even realizes he said it out loud.
Cool air hits my skin. His fingers travel up my thighs, over the dark hair there, stopping shy of where I need him most. He’s taking his time, dragging this out like he knows it’s driving me insane—like he wants me falling apart before his mouth even touches me.
When he finally leans in, his breath washes over me, hot and damp, and I have to clench my fists in the sheets to fight against rocking forward. His lips brush against the inside of my thigh, he lingers there, kissing, breathing me in. Then the other thigh. Every press of his lips sends sparks racing under my skin.
He looks up at me, lashes low, voice husky, “Can I taste you, Gabe?”
Every inch of me is burning up. I want to scream yes, but I hold myself back.
“Ask nicely,” I whisper.
His eyes flutter closed as his mouth drops open before an almost anguished plea falls from his lips. “Please, baby. I need to taste you.Please.”
I can’t even form words at first. I manage a jerky nod, but he doesn’t move until I rasp, “Yeah.”
Noah smiles, wicked and adoring all at once, and finally dips his head.
The first touch of his mouth on me fills me with relief. My head tips back, eyes shutting on instinct, trying to hold onto the feeling of him, warm and wet around me, his tongue dragging along the underside, popping off before he takes me in again.
“So good, Blue,” I manage on a broken breath.
Noah makes a sound of agreement around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine, and I feel his smile against my skin. He takes me deeper, and when I glance down, his eyes are open—dark and blown wide, locked on mine like he’s daring me to look away. I couldn’t even if I want to, and I definitely don’t want to.
I thread my fingers through his damp hair, grounding myself in golden strands. I don’t guide him. I don’t have to. Noah knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows my body, loves my body.
He pulls back to the tip, lips shiny, tongue teasing a lazy circle, then sinks down again, taking me to the back of his throat. My entire body tenses, thighs trembling under his palms, and I have to bite my lip to keep from coming right then.
“Noah,” I breathe.
He makes a deep, pleased sound, and I can feel the edges of my control fraying. It’s too much. Not enough. I want him likethis forever, but I need more. Needallof him. I tug lightly at his hair, coaxing him to look at me, and his eyes flick up to mine, questioning. My chest heaves, the words tumbling out sounding desperate.
“Get up here.”
His lips leave my cock with one last, lingering suck, and then he’s rising, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Noah braces his palms on my thighs, leaning forward, close enough that his breath fans across my damp lips.
“You sure you wanna stop?” he teases.
I nod, pulling him in until our foreheads press together, both of us breathing hard, bodies taut with burning desire.
“I wanna fuck you,” I whisper. “Get on your stomach.” I brush my nose against his.
A deep groan leaves him. I’m not usually so demanding, but lust is fueling my mouth. And the way Noah looks at me—like I’ve just handed him the world—makes me dizzy. He likes the demand in my voice.
He lies on his stomach, sprawled out beneath me, sweatpants kicked off in a hurry. He’s still catching his breath when I run my hand up his spine, following the ridges of muscle until I reach the back of his neck, my hand resting over his tattoo. I brush my fingers over the little N, and he shivers.
He turns his head slightly, cheek pressed to the pillow, and his hazy eyes meet mine.
