Even in the haze of my arousal, I knew myself too well.
“Different word,” I whispered.
Riggs went still behind me, a low breathy growl leaking out of his mouth at my plea.
“Red,” he said simply, and I answered that with a nod, relaxing against the bathroom door.
Riggs picked up like we’d never stopped, his fingers around my dick squeezing hard enough to hurt. I hadn’t bothered to clean that part of myself up after fleeing the loft, and my shaft was stick with the spit I’d used for lube and the cum that had already started to dry against my skin. Riggs ignored all of it, stroking up and down my full length until enough precum had leaked from my tip he was able to use it to moisten the slide.
Screwing my eyes closed, I exhaled a breath that had my bones feeling weak as jelly, and Riggs’s hand never stopped. His grip never faltered, his pace never slowed. He treated my cock with the same careless abandon I’d just done, and he did it like this was the hundredth time he’d taken me in hand, not the first. With a series of low grunts in my ear, the subtle push of his hips against mine, he worked me to the edge of another orgasm with the casual detachment of a man who couldn’t care less whether I got there or not. He touched me the way I’d touched myself, and he did it exceedingly well, but it fell short from what I wanted from him…from what he wanted to give me.
I was nearly there, though, and one stroke short of the end, he released his hold. Like he expected the outcome, he was there to catch me before I fell to the floor. Riggs hooked both arms under my armpits and hauled me back up to standing. He shushed me in the ear and spun me so my back pressed against the closed bathroom door and we were as face to face as our height difference allowed.
“You were so close,” he whispered, spitting into his palm and returning his hand to my dick. He held me softer the second time, worked my length slower.
I whimpered, nodding because there were no words in me.
Riggs’s touch was featherlight, not much more than a tease but certainly enough to cause gooseflesh to ripple down the length of my arms. He danced his fingers up and down my shaft, pressing the edge of his thumb into my slit; harder and harder until I gasped. He closed the space between our faces, foreheads aligned and his mouth a hairsbreadth away from mine. I could feel the smile in the air between us, the pleasure and the want.
“A cock like this deserves to be treated with far more care than you gave it,” he said softly. “Don’t you agree?”
I hadn’t thought much of it before, but now…
His pace slowed, and when he returned to it, he held me a little tighter than before, more certain. He slid his free hand over my throat, not doing a single thing to stifle my air but instead using the hold to balance me against the door. I tilted my head up, giving him more room. There was something worshipful about the position, and my lashes fluttered closed as I gave into enjoying it.
“Do you always touch yourself so callously?” he asked.
“Yes, mostly. I…” A groan tore out of me when he moved his fist all the way down to the base of my shaft, reaching down instead of up. He grabbed my balls and teased them in his spit-soaked palm, and then the hand around my throat was tight, the only thing keeping me upright.
“Wasteful,” he murmured, trailing his nose along the curve of my jaw until his breath burned hot against my ear. Riggs pressed his lips against my ear lobe, bared his teeth.
“Riggs.”
He hummed, taking my hand and guiding it to my cock. He took my fingers in his and wrapped mine around my erection, and stroked upward toward the tip.
“I’ll show you how to do it,” he whispered. “I’ll teach you how to touch yourself the right ways.”
My eyes burned at the statement. Something that should have been so sexy instead felt raw, a brutal slap against my own discomfort with myself and my life. I blinked rapidly and swallowed down the ache.
“Please,” I asked him instead.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, guiding me to touch myself in the ways he knew would feel best. “Just like that, slow and easy. Don’t be scared of making it last.”
A violent wave of pleasure rolled through me, and Riggs chuckled, sinking his teeth into my earlobe. The bite of pain didn’t hurt, but it startled me enough to draw a gasp straight from the pit of my stomach. He released my ear, laved his tongue over the place he’d just bit, our hands still moving together in tandem between my legs.
“This is how your body likes to be handled,” he told me quietly. “This is how you need to be touched to feel good.”
I wasn’t sure that was the truth, but in that moment I felt too good to argue with him about it. Even the last time I’d had sex—which had been with Lincoln—I hadn’t felt anywhere near as turned on as I was with Riggs, and we were both fully dressed without anything more than my cock in our hands. Fire sparked at the base of my spine thinking about what it would be like to be naked with this man, to have his attention on other parts of me.
Unrestrained and unburdened.
“Next time you make yourself come, I want you to do it like this,” he said next. “Touch yourself the way I want you to be touched.”
“I will,” I agreed, voice trembling.
His grip on mine was sweaty, my cock aching and pulsing against my palm. I was so close to coming, even though Riggs had dragged it out so much longer than I’d ever done for myself. I jerked off to come. He jerked me off to set my body ablaze.
“If you don’t, I’ll have to take it away from you.” He lowered his mouth to the—apparently—sensitive skin behind my ear and he kissed me there, chaste but wet. “If you can’t learn how to make yourself feel this good, then it’ll have to be my cock, won’t it? My responsibility.”
