"Don't you dare," I warn him. "Don't you fucking dare come yet."
"Then stop hitting my prostate, asshole."
I grin against his mouth. "Where's the fun in that?"
I reach between us and wrap my hand around his cock. He's thick in my palm, slick with precum, pulsing with need. I stroke him in time with my thrusts, rough and fast, and watch his control shatter.
"Jinx." His voice breaks. "Jinx, I'm gonna—"
"Not yet."
"I can't—"
"You can and you will." I tighten my grip on the base of his cock, staving off his orgasm. "You're going to wait for me. I’m gonna cum deep in your ass and you’re gonna take every fucking drop like the cum dump you are."
His eyes fly open, meet mine. The desperation there is beautiful. The trust, even more so.
"Please," he whispers.
The word undoes me.
I've never heard him beg. Never heard him ask for anything. He's all demands and commands, as dominant as I am, as unwilling to yield. But right now, in this moment, he's giving me trust. Vulnerability.
Things I don't deserve.
I release his cock and cup his face instead. Run my thumb along his cheekbone, admiring how beautiful he is, just for a second.
Then I start moving again, deep and steady, building us both toward the edge. He clings to me, arms around my neck, face buried in my shoulder. I can feel him trembling, feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his body.
"Now," I tell him. "Come for me now."
He does.
His whole body seizes, ass clenching around my cock like a vice. His cock pulses between us, spilling hot and wet across our stomachs, and the sounds coming out of him are incoherent, animal, perfect.
The pressure triggers my own release. I bury myself deep and come, vision whiting out, the orgasm tearing through me like a natural disaster. I fill him with it, pulse after pulse, until there's nothing left.
My legs tremble as I struggle to hold myself up. Sweaty, sticky, gasping for breath. His legs slide off my shoulders, falling limp to the mattress. My cock softens inside him, but neither of us moves to separate.
Silence.
Just our breathing, harsh and uneven, slowly returning to normal.
"Well," he says finally. "That happened."
"Fuck, why do you always have to open your mouth?"
"I'm just saying—"
"I know what you're saying. Shut up anyway."
His chest rumbles with a laugh and I collapse on top of him. The vibration travels through his body and into mine, and I realize I'm still inside him, still connected in the most intimate way possible.
I should pull out. Should roll off him, get dressed, go back to my room and pretend this never happened. That's what I should do.
Instead, I press my forehead against his chin and close my eyes.
"Shower," I murmur.
