“Is that why you left the food containers in the stairwell?” He chuckled, the sound free and unrestrained, the wildness of which I longed to hear every day. “You pestered Ryder into baking again. It’s a trail of treats.”
His stomach growled, and I reached for the transparent box laying upside down in the corner of the blanket. Removing the scarlet lid, I offered the packed-to-the-brim-with-pancakes container to Zion. “I brought breakfast.”
He gawked at me. “I should’ve gotten into your pants earlier. Pancakes, coffee, a secret hiding spot,andI get to stare at you while you pretend to watch the sunrise.” Zion stuffed half a pancake into his mouth, mumbling, “Yup, this is the best morning ever.”
He was like an open book, his reactions presented to you on a silver platter. One I was set on washing clean.
Only not with a washcloth. I intended to employ my tongue to trace the contours of his body, over and over again, until he vibrated from it.
Zion waved the golden cake, thick enough not to break as it swayed in his hold. “These remind me of the pancakes your father made us once for breakfast. Remember that time when we got drunk and you brought me to your parents’ house? I passed out in your bed.”
I tore off a piece of my own pancake. “You mean whenyougot drunk?”
He wiped the grease off his mouth. “Semantics.”
“It’s hard to forget. I had to vent my room the next day—your stinky socks made it uninhabitable.”
He snickered. “I was a teenager, what do you want? Be glad I didn’t throw up.”
Succumbing to the song of a crumb stuck on his bottom lip, I swept it away. My thumb lingered on his chapped lips, the sensitive flesh of the most biteable kind. His tongue darted out, tickling my thumb and tightening my core.
“Anyway, you know how I locked myself in the bathroom in the morning?” he asked, and then devoured the remaining half of the buttery goodness in a flash.
Steam rose from the thermos as I filled a white-with-teal-swirls cup. “And wouldn’t let me in to piss for half an hour? Yeah, I remember. I had to resort to destroying my mother’s flower bed in our yard.”
Taking the coffee from me, Zion drawled, “I had a boner to take care of.”
“I figured,” I deadpanned.
“It wouldn’t go down.” Zion sipped the holy liquid, the overbearingly sugary aroma alone deterring me from following his example. “I tried five different ways to jerk off but couldn’t finish. Even the cold shower did nothing. It fucking hurt.”
Crumbs lodged in my throat as I choked. “Fivedifferent ways? What the hell were you doing?”
“I can show you.” As he shifted on the blanket, the purple woolen fabric creased around his boots, the leather cracked and the shoelaces fraying. “It’s not that hard right now, but with you watching, it should wake up quickly.”
I threw my half-eaten pancake into the food container. Before he could ask, I had my hand wrapped around his throat. “You do not get to touch yourself, Zion. Not now, not ever.” As I straddled him, the concrete dug into my knees, igniting sparks ofache. “Your pleasure ismine.” I leaned into him. “Mine to give, mine to withhold.”
His groan sent a wave of satisfaction down my spine, compelling me to nip his bottom lip, cleaning the residue of our breakfast off of it. Butter and coffee invaded my taste buds.
Compressing the sides of his throat, I cupped him over his sweatpants. A few rubs, and he began to harden, his eyes fluttering closed.
“Swear it.” My voice was hoarse from how he swelled under my strokes, the thin cotton material failing to conceal how much I affected him. “Swear you will not give yourself a single orgasm. Swear they are ours to control and ours to reward you with.”
His hips bucked.
“Zion.” I adjusted my grip to fall on his nape so I could access his neck. Finding the bruise I had set the night before, I licked around the discoloration, humming in approval at his half-sigh, half-groan.
“Swear to me, and I will honor your pledge by making this rough and fast, just how you like it.” Gripping his cock over his pants, I squeezed.
His hiss played out like the most hypnotizing notes of music.
“Gedeon.” The six letters he gritted out formed a plea, and I hooked my fingers over the elastic waistband hugging his hips. My knuckles skimmed the sensitive strip of skin, not far from where he needed me the most, but nowhere near close enough.
With his thighs trapped between mine, he released the most exquisite whine. Knowing it had originated from the tormentIwas causing made heat climb up my thighs.
“Refuse me, and I will go slow, so slow you will beg me for mercy,” I promised, widening my knees to alleviate the building pressure behind the zipper of my jeans.
Him licking his lips and leaving moisture behind beckoned a memory to arise. How he had looked so heavenly with his mouthstuffed full of me in the shooting range. Had sucked with such eagerness, such rapture, that it hadbrokenme. Had been so obedient with his hands crossed behind his back, not a sign of resistance.
