He complied immediately, my voice his leash, and when I tugged he followed. I had never held that kind of sway over another person before. It filled my chest with a glowing kind of intoxication. His willingness made me sexy and powerful and desirable.
Moving back down the plane of his chest, my lips skimmed over the expanse of muscle. His breathing grew unsteady and shallow, fingers twitching where they lay against the sheets. His heartbeat answered every brush of my lips with an increasing pace.
I paused to pay homage to his nipples, circling one, teasing until the flesh pebbled, sucking it into my mouth. His entire body jerked beneath me on a sharp intake of breath, a hiss that cracked into a soft needy moan. I gave the other the sametreatment before kissing my way down his stomach, my lips trailing the grooves of definition, my hands exploring in tandem, my fingertips brushing his sides.
I pressed another kiss to his stomach, then another, lower still. By the time I reached the junction of his hipbone and lower abdomen, that alluring triangle that pointed to the landing source of my ministrations, his entire lower body shifted in eagerness.
Pausing right above the perfect head of his cock, I looked up. His eyes were still closed, lips parted, cheeks the color of sexual excitement. His face was an illustration of undiluted desire and I got to see it. I got to see him this way. The man who didn’t often feel this kind of pull toward anyone came undone under my touch, my actions.
The enormity of that staggering privilege collided with every message of my past. The relationships that shaped me, starting with my parents, then Vincent, had taught me I was too much or not enough. They made me believe I was a burden, useless, dispensable, and that choosing me was an act of pity I ought to be grateful for. I’d spent years mistaking scarcity of love as proof of my own unworthiness. But here, in this moment, Luke looked at me like I was the axis his whole world tilted on.
He hadn’t said it like I had, but I knew. I knew to the marrow of my being that Luke loved me. I would spend the rest of my life proving myself worthy of that sacred gift.
Lowering my head, I pressed a light kiss to the flushed tip, his muscles jumping under my touch. I wanted to give him everything, to worship him until he forgot a world existed outside this room.
“Are you ready for my mouth?” I asked.
“God, yes. Please, I want your mouth.”
“Then open your eyes. Watch me take this paragon of a cock.”
His lids fluttered open.
“Don’t take your eyes off me,” I commanded in a whisper.
“Wasn’t planning on it. I’m going to memorize every second so decades from now, when I’m old, my body failing, I can still close my eyes and come back to this and know I lived something extraordinary.”
My breath snagged—no, stopped—for a heartbeat or two, winded by the magnitude of his statement. “Dammit, Luke, I’m supposed to be the one wrecking you right now.”
“You are,” he said. “You don’t have to touch me to ruin me. You could just look at me like that, with all that wonder and devotion in your pretty blues, and I’ll fall apart. You could just breathe my name and the sound of it would tear through me. The way my heart reacts to you is rewriting everything I ever thought I knew about love.”
“Luke . . .” I whispered, but nothing else followed.
I’d have to say what I needed through my actions. My hand slid up the inside of his thigh, fingers wrapping around the shaft. Lifting his cock from where it lay, I tilted the head toward my waiting mouth. A bead of precum wet the tip. Leaning in, my tongue slipped free to swirl around the plump head, relishing the salty sweetness that coated my palate.
Parting my lips, I sucked him into my mouth. Sliding downward, my tongue massaged the underside as I went. Luke had no shortage of endowment, and it didn’t take much for his cockhead to bump the entrance of my throat. I breathed through my nose, resisting the urge to gag, taking him deeper.
“Jesus. That’s so fucking good. Everything is so good with you. I love how you touch me,” Luke said.
I swallowed around him in answer, squeezing and releasing. In reflex, his hips bucked, pushing himself deeper, a strangled groan breaching his lips.
A beat later, he froze, reeling himself back. “Sorry. Sorry.”
Maybe in another time, another place, I wouldn’t have liked that. I might have flinched from it, bristled at the feeling of being used. It might have struck me too much like control and a way to declare dominance.
But with Luke, it wasn’t that, could never be that. He didn’t use sex to possess. That was antithetical to the way he touched me and the way he watched me like I was wondrous. With him, the response didn’t signify ownership, it happened involuntarily and spoke to the way I affected him, the way I undid him. You couldn’t get purer than that. I didn’t want his apologies. I wanted only his pleasure.
“Move, Luke,” I instructed. “Fuck my mouth. I want the full length of this perfect cock thrusting between my lips. Want you to give me everything.”
Chocolate irises darkened to onyx. His fingers dove into my hair, tangling in the strands. He began with shallow, testing thrusts. His eyes searched my face for pain, for discomfort, for the slightest protest. There was none. If he knocked, he would find only unlocked and wide-open doors.
His next thrust came faster, harder, and I moaned around him. His grip in my hair tightened and he drove forward again.
Fucking glorious.
My docket of experience included either average size or noticeable girth but never both at once. This was one more way Luke would ruin me for anyone else. Nothing would ever compare again.
Garbled noises escaped me. Sounds to express my lust. My ardor. Nothing structured. The only subject on my mind was him. The only verb I planned on using was touch. Me touching him. Him touching me. His erect penis touching the back of my throat, my rim, the entrance to my hole, the innermost flesh of my ass. The only object worthy of attention. Our desire.
