We keep going, slow, deliberate, mapping each other inch by inch.
When his hands find me, I gasp, not from surprise but from the raw want of it, a hunger that's been building for months, coiling tighter with each almost-touch.
His fingers are calloused from years of hockey sticks and weight rooms, rough against the most sensitive part of me, and the contrast between that roughness and his careful, deliberate touch makes my hips buck involuntarily.
He jerks me with the confidence of a man who’s watched me break every record in the weight room, but still handles me like I’m fragile.
I reach for him, too, my fingers trembling slightly as they close around him, hot velvet over steel, pulsing with each heartbeat.
He's so fucking hard against my palm I wonder how long he's been holding back, how many nights he's lain awake thinking about this exact moment, same as me.
We stroke each other with increasing urgency, his grip tightening as my rhythm falters, our kisses growing messier and more desperate.
Our hands tangle together in the narrow space between our bodies, knuckles bumping, fingers sticky with sweat and precum, creating a perfect friction that makes my vision blur at the edges.
He flips us, presses me down into the mattress, mouth at my throat, his teeth grazing the tender skin below my ear.
He then whispers against my ear, his breath hot and uneven, "Want to taste each other?" His eyes meet mine, half-lidded and questioning, as his thumb traces a slow circle on my hip bone.
We shift into the sixty-nine position, his muscular thighs bracketing my head as he hovers above me, his weight supported on his forearms.
The salt-musk scent of him fills my senses as I take him into my mouth, feeling the silky-smooth skin and the throb of his pulse against my tongue.
A bead of precum, bitter-sweet, spreads across my taste buds as I hollow my cheeks around him.
I open my mouth wider, jaw stretching to accommodate him, as the weight of his body presses down. The taste of salt and skin floods my senses.
My hands grip his thighs, feeling the muscles tense under my fingertips as I pull him deeper, wanting to take all of him until there's nothing left between us, until I'm dizzy with the fullness of him against my tongue, against the back of my throat.
He takes me deeper than I can take him, the hot velvet of his throat contracting around me while I struggle not to gag.
His teeth graze ever so slightly at my base, sending electric currents up my spine.
The wet heat of his mouth engulfs me completely, I'm basically in his throat, disappearing into him inch by inch as his hands grip my hips with bruising intensity, steadying me, claiming me.
I moan, and he grins, like he just won a bet.
He comes first, right in my throat—hot and sudden, and it takes me a second to realize what's happening.
His entire body tenses, thighs trembling against my palms as he makes a guttural, helpless groan that vibrates through his chest into mine.
The sound, so raw and unguarded, pushes me over the edge.
I follow a second later, stars bursting behind my eyelids as waves of pleasure crash through me, leaving me breathless and boneless beneath him.
We both pull away, gasping. I feel the cool air hit my wet lips as he shifts his weight, his muscled thigh sliding against mine.
He reaches for me, pulls me close until our foreheads touch, his fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of my neck.
Our chests rise and fall against each other, heartbeats syncing as we catch our breath.
It’s messy, sticky, and I don’t care. I pull him in, bury my face in his neck, inhale the salt and the clean, soapy smell of his skin.
We lie there, not talking, just breathing. His hand never leaves my chest.
After a while, he rolls onto his back, pulls me with him. I rest my head on his chest, listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong, the best lullaby I’ve ever heard.
In the dark, he whispers, “You still want this? After everything?”
