I slide lower. Kiss the line of his hip. The trail of dark hair that leads downward. I can feel him hardening already, his body responding to my mouth even before I reach my destination.
"You don't have to," he says.
"I know." I look up at him. His eyes are open now, dark and heavy-lidded, watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach clench. "I want to."
I curl my fingers around him. He's thick, hard, already straining toward me. I stroke once, twice, watching his face, watching the way his jaw tightens and his eyes flutter.
"I've been thinking about this," I say conversationally. "About what you taste like in the morning. About what sounds you make when you lose control."
"Alexandra..."
"Shh." I lean down and press a kiss to the tip. He jerks, hips lifting off the mattress, and I smile against his skin. "Let me."
I take him into my mouth.
He groans. A deep, guttural sound that vibrates through my entire body. His hand tightens in my hair, pulling ever so slightly. Anchoring himself to me while I take him apart.
I start slow. Exploring. Learning the shape of him, the taste, the weight on my tongue. He's salty and warm and undeniably male, and I like it. Like the way he fills my mouth, the way his breath catches when I swirl my tongue around the head, the way his fingers flex in my hair every time I take him deeper.
"Fuck." The word comes out strangled. "That's... god, that's..."
I hum around him, and he curses again, hips bucking involuntarily. I pin them down with one hand, holding him in place, controlling the pace. He lets me. This man who controls everything, who gives orders and expects obedience, he lies back and lets me take what I want.
The power of it is intoxicating.
I work him with my mouth and my hand, finding a rhythm, building pressure. I watch his face the whole time. The way his brow furrows. The way his lips part around ragged breaths. The way his eyes keep closing and then forcing themselves open again, like he can't bear to miss a second of watching me.
"You look," he manages. "You look so..."
"So what?"
"Beautiful. Wrecked. Mine." The last word comes out like a growl. "You look like mine."
"I am yours." I pull back, let my lips drag along his length, and watch him shudder. "But right now, you're mine."
I take him deep again. Deeper this time, relaxing my throat, letting him slide past the resistance until my nose brushes the hair at his base. He makes a sound I've never heard from him before. Raw. Desperate. The sound of a man coming undone.
"Alexandra, I'm going to... if you don't stop, I'm going to..."
I don't stop.
I want this. Want to feel him lose control, want to taste him when he breaks, want to be the reason his carefully constructed walls come crashing down. I suck harder, move faster, and I feel the moment he tips over the edge.
His body tenses. His hand fists in my hair. He says my name like a prayer, like a curse, like the only word he knows, and then he's coming, hot and sudden, flooding my mouth while I swallow and swallow and don't pull away.
I work him through it. Gentle now, easing him down, pressing soft kisses to his hip, his stomach, the inside of his thigh. His hand loosens in my hair, strokes through the strands, trembling slightly.
"Jesus Christ," he breathes.
I crawl up his body and settle on top of him, chin resting on his chest, grinning up at him.
"Good morning."
He stares at me. His eyes are hazy, unfocused, still swimming in the aftermath. "That was..."
"Mmm?"
"I don't have words."
