I push him onto his back, straddle his thighs. His cock juts between us, hard and thick. I wrap my hand around him, feel him pulse in my palm.
"Gwen—"
"Shh. My turn."
I stroke him slowly, learning the weight and heat of him in my palm. He's thick and hard, velvet skin stretched over steel, pulsing with need. I watch his face as I explore—the way his eyes go dark when I twist my wrist at the head, how his jaw clenches when I squeeze just a little tighter. A bead of moisture gathers at the tip and I swipe my thumb through it, spreading the slickness down his length.
His breath comes harder now, his abs flexing with each stroke. That legendary Marine control slips a little more with each deliberate movement of my hand. His hips start to move, subtle thrusts into my fist that he can't quite suppress.
"You're killing me," he groans.
"That's the plan."
I lower my head and drag my tongue from base to tip in one long, slow lick. The taste of him explodes on my tongue—clean skin and masculine heat. His whole body goes rigid, every muscle locking tight.
"Christ."
I swirl my tongue around the head, teasing the sensitive ridge before taking him into my mouth. Inch by inch, I work him deeper, relaxing my throat to accommodate his size. My lips seal tight around him as I pull back, creating suction that makes his hips jerk off the bed.
Power rushes through me, heady and intoxicating. This controlled, tactical man is completely at my mercy. I watch hisreactions like I'm studying for an exam—cataloging what makes his breathing stutter versus what makes him grip the sheets. When I hum around him, the vibration pulls a strangled sound from his throat.
I establish a rhythm, taking him deep then pulling back to focus on the head, tongue working in circles and figure-eights. My hand cups and rolls his balls, adding another layer of sensation. His fingers thread through my hair, not directing, just touching like he needs the connection. The muscles in his thighs go taut, trembling with the effort of holding still.
"Gwen, I'm going to?—"
I don't stop. I double down, taking him deeper and increasing the pace. My hand works in tandem with my mouth, twisting at the base while my tongue does wicked things to the head. I hum around him and the vibration is his undoing.
His whole body goes rigid. A choked sound tears from his throat—my name, broken and desperate. His hips jerk up involuntarily as he comes, hot pulses flooding my mouth. I swallow and keep working him through it, tongue gentling but maintaining that steady rhythm as wave after wave crashes through him.
His thighs shake. His fingers tighten in my hair almost to the point of pain before relaxing. I feel every tremor, every aftershock that runs through his powerful body. When the pulses finally stop and he's gasping for air above me, completely spent, I release him slowly and press one last soft kiss to the head before pulling back.
He stares at me like I've just rearranged his entire understanding of the universe.
"You're incredible," he says when he can speak.
"Right back at you."
He pulls me up to lie beside him, captures my mouth in a kiss that tastes like both of us. It's slow at first, then building again. His hand slides down my body, cups between my legs.
"Still wet," he murmurs appreciatively. "Think you can come again?"
"With you? Definitely."
He rolls me onto my back, settling between my thighs with a predatory gleam in his eyes. His weight presses me into the mattress, solid and grounding. The thick head of his cock slides through my wetness, parting my folds but not entering. The pressure is maddening—so close to what I need but not quite there.
He does it again, dragging his length through my slickness in one slow, deliberate stroke. When he reaches my clit, he grinds against the swollen bud with just enough pressure to make me gasp. My hips buck up involuntarily, chasing more friction, but he pulls back with a knowing grin.
"Thatcher—"
Again. Slower this time. The ridge of his head catches on my entrance, threatening penetration before sliding away to torture my clit again. I'm squirming beneath him now, nails digging into his shoulders, completely at his mercy.
"Thatcher, please."
"Please what?"
"Stop teasing."
"But you make such pretty sounds when I tease you."
