He's right. The idea of going straight from this conversation to the act in the same breath was me being reckless. This is Tex being smart and careful with me.
"Deal," I say.
"Then come here and let's get started."
He pulls me down to the bed. The kiss is slow and asks the question his mouth always asks—are you here, are you sure, are you choosing this—and my mouth answers the way it always answers—yes, yes, yes.
The kiss deepens. His tongue strokes mine, gentle but thorough. His hand slides from my face to my neck, thumb brushing the pulse point there, then down my chest, his fingers splaying wide over my heart like he's feeling for the rhythm to make sure it's steady.
He rolls me onto my back and moves down my body, kissing as he goes, throat, shoulder, the flat plane between my pecs. He pauses at each nipple, tongue circling slow, then sucking gently until they tighten and I arch with a soft gasp. His beard drags across my stomach, a soft rasp that makes my skin prickle. Lower still with kisses along the line of hair below my navel, then the sensitive crease where thigh meets hip.
He pauses there. Looks up at me, eyes dark but soft.
"Still with me?" he asks quietly.
"Yeah. Keep going."
He pushes my knees up gently, palms warm on the backs of my thighs. I let them fall open. The position leaves me exposed completely and a flicker of old instinct tries to tighten my muscles, but his thumbs stroke soothing circles on my inner thighs, slow and steady, until the tension eases.
"Beautiful," he murmurs against my skin. "You're so beautiful like this. Open for me. Trusting me. I love seeing you like this."
He starts at my knee and kisses his way up my thigh. Then his mouth finds me. The first touch of his tongue on my ass is so soft I almost don't register it. Just warm, wet pressure against the tight ring of muscle. Then he licks again slowly, a broad flat stroke from the sensitive skin behind my balls up to the center. I gasp and my hips twitch toward him.
No one has ever done this. Not once. No one ever put their mouth here. This is untouched territory. Brand new. And the sensation is nothing like anything I've known, soft, warm, slick. His tongue circles the rim in lazy spirals, then presses flat again, lapping slow and patient, coaxing the muscle to soften.
"Fuck… Tex..." My voice cracks. "That feels… God—"
He doesn't stop. He takes his time, exploring. His tongue works in circles and strokes that he's inventing as he goes, adjusting based on the sounds I make, the way my hips move, and how my hands grip the sheets. My knuckles are white from the effort of holding still when my body wants to move in ways it's never moved.
The old memory doesn't flare up. That's the miracle of it. Nobody has ever done this to me so there's no old, darkmemory to fire. Tex is giving, not taking. His mouth on me is an act of giving that has no parallel in my history and my body is responding to it like a plant responding to sunlight. Turning toward it. Opening for him.
He hums against me and the vibration travels straight through me. My cock jerks against my stomach, already leaking steadily. He keeps going, tongue dipping just the barest bit inside, then retreating, teasing the sensitive skin until I'm trembling, thighs shaking under his hands.
"Still good?" he asks, breath hot against me.
"So good. Don't stop. Please."
He doesn't. He explores, learning every hitch in my breath, every tiny shift of my hips. When my body starts to relax, he presses his tongue deeper in shallow thrusts that make my toes curl and a low, broken moan spill out.
He reaches up with one hand and wraps it around my cock, stroking slow and steady while his mouth continues its work, and the dual sensation makes my spine arc off the bed. The pleasure is layered now, his hand and mouth working together, two points of contact building toward a single goal and I'm making sounds that I didn't know I was capable of and I don't care.
He pulls back. I hear the nightstand drawer open. The click of a cap. Then his hand returns—slick now, lube coating his fingers—and the care of that, the fact that he stopped what he was doing to make sure this wouldn't hurt, sends warmth through me. It's trust. Confirmed. Reinforced.
Tex will never hurt me.
One finger is touching me there now. Gentle. Pressing where his tongue has been, where the skin is sensitive. Thepress is a question. I feel the pad of his finger against me. Not inside, not yet, just there waiting.
"This okay?" he asks quietly.
"Yes," I breathe.
His left hand works inside me while his mouth moves to take me in, and the combination—his finger and his mouth, makes the room tilt.
His finger slides in—slow, so slow—barely a stretch at first, just warm, slick pressure. I breathe through it, and he pauses when he's one knuckle deep, letting me adjust.
"Talk to me, baby," he murmurs. "How's that feel?"
"Full. Keep going."
