"You're already providing further commentary."
"Stopping now. I'm done. My mouth is closed. I'm a silent mountain."
"You have never been silent in your life."
"There's a first time for everything. And I would very much like to experience my first time being silent while you give me—"
I shut him up by pushing the sheet down.
"Actually wait. One more thing before you commence. We should at least acknowledge that Sheila — sixty-three-year-old Sheila Walker — threw brass knuckles through the air like a quarterback and you caught them one-handed without looking? Were you a wide receiver in a past life? Because that catch alone deserves a highlight reel and I will NOT be silent about it. I can't stop talking. I'm sorry. I probably should lay off the caffeine."
"Tex."
"You're right. Shutting up. For real. Silent mountain time starting now."
He's already hard. He's probably been hard since I walked downstairs in the pink shirt fourteen hours ago. With Tex it's hard to tell where one state of arousal ends and another begins because the man exists in a perpetual state of wanting me. I'm still getting used to the idea that someone can want me this much and love me too.
I move down the bed and settle between his legs. My hands rest on his thighs. He's looking down at me. His eyes are dark with heat.
"Remember earlier when you said I can do this tonight,afterthe Ron thing is done?"
"I remember."
"This isafter."
I lean down and take him into my mouth.
The sound he makes fills the room, deep, guttural. His cock is heavy on my tongue, thick enough to stretch my lips wide, hot and slick with precum that coats the roof of my mouth the second I close around him. I taste salt, musk, the faint bitterness of arousal that's been building for hours. I hum softly, letting the vibration travel down his shaft, and his whole body jerks.
"Fuck… Stormy."
Everything feels different tonight.
The weight of him filling my mouth, the way he pulses against my tongue. The gentle way his hand finds the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, resting, never pushing, feels familiar in shape but brand-new in meaning.
I'm not the scared kid anymore, trying to survive. I'm a man giving pleasure to the person I love because I want to. I'm discovering that Icravethe wrecked sounds Tex makes when he loses control.
I go slow and take my time. I want to do it well, not to earn safety, but because this man held Ron still so I could hit him. Because he gave me a home and saidtake what is yours to take, baby.
This is what's mine to take now.
And I'm taking it.
I flatten my tongue along the thick vein on the underside, drag it slow from base to tip in one long, wet stripe. His hips twitch, a low whine escapes him. I swirl around the head—fat, flushed, leaking—sucking gently, then harder, letting my lips seal tight and pull. Precum floods my tongue and I swallow around him.
"God, your mouth," Tex groans. "Stormy, your fucking mouth. So hot. So wet. Feels like heaven."
Relaxing my throat, I take him deeper. I hum again, low and steady, and his hand tightens in my hair, not pulling, just gripping like I'm the only thing keeping him tethered.
"Fuck, baby," he chokes out. "You're taking me so deep. How are you… shit, your throat squeezing me like that."
I pull back slow, lips dragging, tongue pressing flat, then dive down again. My hand wraps around the base, knuckles screaming but I don't care. He's thick, veined, too much for my mouth alone, and I stroke in time with my sucking. Slow twists. Firm grip. The wet, filthy sounds of my mouth working him fill the room, mixing with his ragged breathing.
He's trembling now, his massive thighs shaking under my palms, abs clenching hard. I look up through my lashes. His head is thrown back, throat working, eyes on me.
I hold his gaze. Let him see me choosing this.
His hips lift in small, helpless bucks he tries to control. "You're so fucking good," he rasps. "Taking me like this. God, I can feel your throat working. Fuck."
