His whole body jerks. A sharp inhale tears from his throat. He clenches his eyes shut. His abs lock.
There. That’s it.
I smile around him, tasting his reaction before it even comes. And then he breaks. He’s cumming. Deep in my throat, and I don’t pull back. Not for a second. I take it. All of it. The warm taste hits my tongue, and I moan from how real it is. How heavy it feels in my mouth. How fucking perfect. But I don’t stop.
I keep moving, gentle now, literally dragging the pleasure out, milking every last drop from him.
My lips sliding up and down, savoring the shudders that run through him. His hand tightens in my hair again. His breath is a wreck. His stomach is tight and trembling, his whole body still reacting.
And I’m flying.
Because I did that. I made him fall apart.Me.He’s breathless. And ruined. Because ofme.And I swallow every part of it with a grin against his skin. Because there is no better taste in the world than Gio when he lets go.
He pulls me up, hands rough but careful, one sliding around my waist, the other curling around my neck. His thumb presses into my throat. Our mouths are inches apart.
His eyes lock on mine. "How the fuck am I supposed to let you leave?"
His tongue slides into my mouth and he groans when he feels himself. Heactuallykisses me, tasting himself on my tongue. His hand stays tight around my neck, his thumb is brushing just below my jaw. He holds me there, not giving a fuck about time or leaving or anything but this.
Us.
29) No More Secrets
Gio
I’m pulling on my shirt, still damp from the bathroom. My buttons are fucking refusing to cooperate. Rava is quiet behind me, too quiet. I’m sure his cute little brain is spinning.
I glance over my shoulder. He’s sitting on my bed, knees tucked up, Lulu curled on his lap. His fingers are holding that photo frame I keep next to my bed. The one I don’t let people touch.
Me, maybe seven. Gap-toothed smile. Helmet too big for my head. Sitting on the tank of my dad’s motorcycle while he holds the handlebars behind me. Both of us laughing.
Rava looks up at me, holding the photo carefully. "Was that your dad’s bike?" he asks softly. "Yeah," I mutter. "That was his."
He looks back down at the picture. "Where is it now?"
I swallow hard. "They took it," I say. "After he…after what happened." I don’t have to say after he killed himself.
Rava knows. He always knows when to read the silence. "Because it was tied to the case or some shit. Evidence. Emotional contamination. Whatever term they used." I let out a laugh with no humor in it. "I’ve tried to take this bike back. So many fucking times. Letters, calls, lawyers. But I’ve got a damn record. They see my name and shut the door before I even open my mouth."
I look at him, still holding that photo like it hurts him too. "I loved that bike," I say, quieter now. "He did too. It was the only thing we built together. I remember every sound it made."
I step into my boots, bend down to lace them up. "It’s stupid, I know. It’s just metal, but it felt like home."
He reaches out, fingers brushing mine.
We end up standing by the door. Me fully dressed now, jacket in hand. Him still barefoot in my shirt, Lulu circling his ankles likehe belongs to her now.
I’m sorry, girl, I was there first.
I look at him and smirk, trying to lighten the air again.
"Funny, huh? Little Ravioli never thought he’d end up alone in my house with my cat."
He raises an eyebrow, smirks right back. "Little Gio probably didnotimagine moaning my name out loud in pleasure. Stay humble."
I laugh, grabbing the doorknob. "Wait who says I didn’t—" He shoves my shoulder. "Go. Text me how your mom’s doing."
…
