My palm presses against the hard length of him through the fabric.
Oh god--, that's--
Grey freezes, his entire body going rigid, every muscle locking. Then his hips jerk involuntarily, thrusting up into my palm.
The groan that tears out of him is raw, almost pained, punched from deep in his chest. His hand flies to my wrist. But he doesn't stop me. Just grips hard enough that I feel it.
Something flares in his eyes, heat, hunger, surrender. For a heartbeat, we stare at each other, the air crackling between us. And then my palm shifts on his cock, and his eyes slam shut, his jaw clenched so hard I can see the hollow above the muscle. His neck is so taut, the tendons stand at attention, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. This time when his cock throbs, it's in the circle of my fingers, the cup of my palm, searing heat radiating through the cotton. I can feel how hard he is, how thick.
Holy shit.
I freeze too, hand still cupped around him, feeling each pulse. His hand is still on my wrist. He's just breathing, hard and ragged, chest heaving. And then he groans, and power surges through me, bright and intoxicating.I made him sound like that.
My fingers flexes around him experimentally, and he hisses.
"Is that okay?" My words come out breathy, uncertain, barely a whisper.
The most tortured laugh escapes him, and when his eyes open, they lock on mine with intensity that steals my breath. "Yes. Yes, that's okay." His irises are practically black. His hand around my wrist tightens, holding me there. "But Molly--"
The warning in his tone whispers of rules, boundaries, bases to follow.
I cut him off before he can talk either of us out of it. "I want to." Gently, I squeeze his cock again, and he moans, hips flexing. "Can I? Will you show me?"
Please say yes please say yes please--
War wages behind his eyes, restraint versus want, control versus need. His jaw works as he grinds his teeth.
I see the exact moment his restraint loses the fight. Something in him breaks, and my stomach swoops.
"Come here," he rasps, the sound working down my spine. He shifts onto his back, taking me with him in one smoothmotion. I'm half on top of him, one leg thrown over his thigh, the hard muscle against the softest parts of me. He lets go of my wrist to cover my hand cupped over him.
"I'll show you," he promises, eyes locked on mine, voice firm. "But tell me if you want to stop. Okay?"
I nod.
"Words, peaches."
"I won't want to stop," I breathe, meaning it.
His smile is devastating. "Here," he murmurs, guiding my hand to the waistband of his boxer briefs. The elastic is textured beneath my fingertips, and I hesitate.
This is it. It's happening. I'm about to touch Grey's cock. His actual cock.
My fingers tremble as I slip them under the elastic. The fabric is soft, worn thin from washing, and there's almost nothing between my hand and--
When my fingers brush heated skin, we both suck in a sharp breath.
"Oh, god," I whisper. He's so hot, like he's burning up from the inside. Silky skin over impossible hardness. I flatten my palm against him.
I can feel his pulse.
He groans, low and rough, and the sound hits me between my thighs.
"Here…let me--" He shifts, hooks his thumbs in the waistband. Lifts his hips and shoves them down his thighs. His cock springs free, patting against his stomach, thick and flushed, darker at the tip, curving slightly toward his stomach. A glistening bead at the tip catches the morning light, and I take it all in, the roadmap of veins running the length--are they pulsing?
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
