We stumble toward the bed, mouths and hands everywhere, tugging at the waistband of my trousers, unbuckling, unzipping. He drops to his knees in front of me.
“Rangi—”
He looks up at me through with burning dark eyes, hands braced on my thighs, lips already parted like a promise.
“Shh,” he says, and there’s that crooked smile. That confident, knowing glint in his eyes. “Let me pleasure my prince.”
My knees nearly buckle the moment he frees me, his hands unfastening my trousers with infuriating precision before tugging them down my hips, dragging briefs with them. The cool air against my skin is a shock—but nothing compared to the heat of his mouth.
He starts slow. Deliberate. Cruelly delicious.
His tongue flicks over the head of my cock, the tip of it circling lazily, teasing. A shudder rolls through me as he sucks me into the wet heat of his mouth inch by inch, and by the time he takes me all the way in, his throat relaxing to accommodate me, I swear I black out for a second.
My hand flies to his shoulder, fisting the fabric of his shirt, desperate for an anchor. “Fuck, Rangi?—”
He hums around me like he enjoys the way I fall apart in his mouth, and the vibration of it sends a lightning bolt straight through my spine. His eyes flick up to meet mine—dark, hungry,knowing—and that eye contact alone nearly unravels me. He’s in control, and he knows it.
He doesn’t rush. He fucking worships. Every movement is measured, intentional. One hand anchors me, splayed over my hip with a grip that promises bruises, while the other wraps firmly around the base of me, stroking in a rhythm that matches the slow, wet slide of his mouth.
I’m panting, my hips twitching helplessly as he works me deeper.
“Too much,” I rasp, but my hand doesn’t push him away. Itpulls—fingers threading into his hair, hips canting forward despite myself. “I’m—fuck—I’m close.”
He doesn’t stop.
His grip tightens, mouth sucking harder as he takes me deeper still. I feel his throat flex around the head of my cock, and the slick, obscene sound of him sucking me down has heat flooding my body, setting every nerve alight.
He’s devouring me. Like a man starved. And gods, I want him to devour me.
My vision blurs. My legs go tight. I fall into pleasure with his name on my lips, as I spill into his mouth.
He swallows everything. Doesn’t flinch. Just takes it.
When I finally sag against him, shaking, breath coming in ragged gulps, he rises slowly—like a predator who knows he’s won.
His mouth is flushed and wet, and his tongue flicks out to catch a bead at the corner of his lips, and the sight has my cock rising once more.
“You taste better than I imagined,” he murmurs, low and rough. “And I’ve imagined this more than I care to admit.” I pull him into a kiss, tasting myself on his tongue and groaning at the furious rush of desire that hits me.
I push him backward toward the bed, and he goes willingly. I strip the rest of his clothes off as he falls against the mattress, powerful body on full display, cock hard and waiting.
“Your turn,” I say, voice rough as gravel.
His mouth parts—maybe in protest, maybe in warning—but I’m already sinking to my knees, already gripping his thighs, already dragging my tongue up the length of him.
He groans. Loud.
“Leo—”
I suck him into my mouth, deep. He tastes like sweat and salt and something deliciously addictive. His hips jerk, but I press a hand to his stomach, pinning him down.
“I want to learn you,” I whisper. “I want to mark every fucking inch.”
And I do.
I learn the way his breath stutters when I lick the head of his cock just right. I learn how his thighs tense when he’s close. I learn that when he says “fuck” in a growl, it means he’s about five seconds from losing control.
When he does come, it’s with my name on his lips and his hand buried in my hair. I swallow him down, not because I have to—because Iwantto.
