He stills my hands and tells me to take a deep breath.
I inhale and exhale exaggeratedly.
“Your lungs are very opinionated today.”
“Only because you’re slow on purpose.”
“We’ve talked about this, Antonio. You need patience.”
“Why? You seem to have enough for both of us. Your patience covers half
the global population.”
His lips twitch, which is not the result I was aiming for.
“There’s no rush.”
“I am the rush!”
“Antonio. You won’t be ready in a few seconds. It takes time.”
“But—”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ll tell you when you’re ready.” He waits for me to meet his eyes.
“I’m a sex wizard.”
“Even so. We won’t continue until you agree.”
I glare at him.
He waits.
Finally, I sigh. “You will tell me when I’m ready,” I mutter.
“Good boy.”
His every kiss melts me. My fingers dig into his sides. He kisses down my neck, along my collarbone, stopping at my nipples. He teases them with his tongue, taking his time, before he continues lower, kissing and licking and sucking.
He reaches for the lube, and soon his fingers are working me open—slowly.
So goddamn slowly. I’m writhing, whining, demanding more.
“Please.”
“You’re not ready, baby.”
“Are you sure? Because I think I am.”
“Well I know you’re not.”
I push against him, desperate for more.
The pressure of his fingers, the wetness of his mouth, the needy, feral sounds I make—all of it together makes the pleasure of anticipation almost unbearable.
