He makes the swirling motion again, and I groan. “This?”
“That. Fuck, yes, that.”
Robbie’s a quick study. Always has been. But I just cannot believe the way he focuses on me. The way he pays attention to every little thing.
When I gasp, when my fingers tighten in his hair, when my hips roll, he sees it, and I feel like I’m giving too much away.
The truth is, he already knows most of what drives me wild: the flat of his tongue tracing my underside, the gentle—fuckingdelicate—scrape of his teeth, seeing his cheeks hollow as he sucks, hearing his wet, desperate choke when he takes me to the back of his throat. But apparently, he’s determined to learn every single cheat code.
And it’s clear he loves getting me off because once he locks into what works, he just does not stop.
The whole time, his green eyes—wet and teary—stare up at me, getting off on my twitches and gasps.
It’s too much, this connection. And somehow, it’s not enough.
“Robbie,” I warn, the pressure coiling tight at the base of my spine. “I’m—I’m close. You should?—”
He hums again, an acknowledgment this time, and once more, the vibration shoots through me. But he keeps going. One hand braces my hip, holding me steady; the other’s wrapped around the base of my cock, his grip waytoo firm and sure for a man who only discovered the joys of cock sucking a week ago.
“I-I’m close,” I try again, tugging his hair. “If you don’t want?—”
He pulls off just long enough to say, “I want.” His voice is rough, his eyes are dark with desire.
And that’s it. That’s all she wrote. I am done.
I come with his name torn from my throat, my hand possessively fisted in his hair, my whole body shaking with the force of it.
He swallows every bit of my release like he’s done this a thousand times. Like he wants to do it a thousand more.
When he finally pulls off, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins up at me, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.
I have to close my eyes against the surge of emotion that threatens to overwhelm me. Because Robbie on his knees for me, sharing my pleasure… it’s impossible to convince myself this is some friendship add-on or whatever the fuck I’d called it.
“Was that good?” he asks, his voice still rough. “Did you like it?”
I open my eyes and look down at him—still on his knees, still grinning, still so goddamn gorgeous—and my nose and throat burn.
“You already know I loved it,” I accuse, my voice barely there.
The sweet smile he gives me as he climbs to his feet and tugs me to the bathroom says he does.
This is not sustainable, I think a short while later, when we climb into bed.
I’m staying over because it would be shitty of me toexpect him to drive me home this late, and for no other reason. But tomorrow, I need to sit Robbie down and re-explain… well, everything. Everything I said a week ago—and then utterly disregarded—about how he needs to take things slowly, and how this isn’t real, no matter how it feels in the moment.
It’ll make sense when I explain it properly. He’ll understand I’m protecting both of us.
I surface slowlylike I’ve been underwater. First, there’s warm breath ghosting over my skin, then a soft drag of lips tracing down my chest. Then I hear Robbie’s voice, so low it’s more of a vibration from his body into mine, saying things that make my chest tight and my heart stumble.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs against my ribs, his lips moving with each word, each syllable a kiss. “So strong. So sweet. You’re so fucking perfect, Ames.”
I make a sound—something between a sigh and a whimper—and fingers trail down my arm while a warm tongue laps over my nipple.
“I love this tattoo,” Robbie breathes. “I meant what I said, Ames. I love that we match. Love that everyone who sees it knows we belong to each other.”
I’m drifting, half in a dream, everything warm and soft at the edges. I’ve been in this dream before, and I love every part of it. It’s a lucky, lucky night when this dream comes.
Dream-Robbie’s mouth moves lower, his breath hotagainst the trail of hair below my navel, and I arch into the sensation without thought.
