I wrapped my lips around him and sank down.
Tyler's head fell back, a groan tearing from his throat that echoed off the garage walls. The sound was obscene, beautiful, everything I wanted to hear. His hands tangled in my hair, not pushing, just holding on, like he needed an anchor to keep from flying apart.
I worked him slowly, learning the weight of him on my tongue, the way his hips jerked when I hollowed my cheeks and sucked. The way his breath caught when I swirled my tongue around the head. The sounds he made when I took him deeper, letting him hit the back of my throat before pulling back.
"God, your mouth." Tyler's voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. "How are you so fucking good at that?"
I hummed around him in response, felt him shudder. Pulled back to lap at the head, tasting salt and need, then sank down again. His thighs were trembling, his stomach muscles jumping with each stroke.
I pulled off, looked up at him. His chest was heaving, his lips bitten red, his eyes wild with want. Sweat was beading at his temples, his whole body trembling. He'd never looked more beautiful.
"Turn around."
He obeyed without hesitation, bracing his hands on the workbench, presenting himself to me with a trust that made my chest ache. The long line of his back, the curve of his ass, the way his muscles tensed in anticipation. I stood, ran my hands down his spine, felt him arch into my touch like a cat.
"Please." The word was barely a whisper, more breath than voice.
"Not yet."
I brought my hand up to Tyler's mouth, pressed two fingers against his lips. "Get them wet."
He obeyed instantly, taking my fingers deep, tongue swirling around them with an enthusiasm that made my cock throb. When I pulled them free, they were slick with spit, and Tyler was watching me over his shoulder with dark, desperate eyes.
I traced my wet fingers down the cleft of his ass, circling, teasing, watching him tremble under my touch. His hands curled into fists on the workbench, white-knuckled with anticipation.
When I finally pushed inside, one finger at first, Tyler made a sound that went straight to my cock. A broken moan, half pleasure and half relief, like he'd been waiting for this as desperately as I had. He was hot inside, tight, clenching around me in a way that made me want to bury myself in him and never come out.
I worked him open slowly, thoroughly. Added a second finger, twisting and spreading, stretching him until he was pushing back against my hand. His breath came in sharp gasps, punctuated by sounds he wasn't even trying to muffle anymore.
"More."
A third finger, and he keened, his forehead dropping to rest on the workbench. I curled my fingers downward, searching, and found that spot inside him that made his whole body jerk.
"There. Fuck, right there."
I worked that spot mercilessly, watching him fall apart under my hands. The noises he was making—soft whimpers and sharp gasps and my name, over and over, like a prayer or a curse. The power of it was intoxicating. This man who'd survived three years of hell, who'd faced down Cross and the Wolves and everything the world had thrown at him—coming undone because of me.
"Tank, please. I'm ready."
I withdrew my fingers, heard his noise of loss. Freed myself from my jeans, spat in my palm to slick my cock, lined up against him. Pressed the head to his entrance and felt him tense, then consciously relax, opening for me. "I've got you."
I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving him time to adjust. The heat of him was overwhelming, tight and perfect, and I had to stop halfway just to breathe, just to keep from losing myself too soon. My fingers dug into his hips hard enough to bruise. Neither of us cared.
Tyler's hands were flat on the workbench, his head hanging between his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was raw. "More."
I started moving, slow at first, finding a rhythm that made us both gasp. One hand braced on his hip, the other on his shoulder, holding him steady as I thrust. The sound of skin on skin filled the garage, punctuated by Tyler's increasingly ragged breaths and my own low groans.
"Let them hear." I growled against his ear, notslowing my pace. "I don't care. Let the whole compound know you're mine."
Tyler moaned—loud, unrestrained, the sound bouncing off the walls like a declaration. Anyone walking past would know exactly what was happening in here. The thought should have given me pause. It didn't. Let them know. Let everyone know. This man was mine, and I was his, and nothing Cross or anyone else could do would change that.
But I wanted to see his face.
"Wait—" I pulled out, ignoring Tyler's noise of protest, the way his body clenched around nothing. "I want to see you."
There was a tarp in the corner, thrown over a pile of spare parts. I grabbed it, spread it on the concrete floor—not comfortable, but better than bare cement. Tyler understood immediately, lowering himself onto his back, reaching for me with desperate hands.
I settled between his thighs, hooked his legs over my shoulders, and pushed back in.
