There went my heart, shattering for him once more.
“It’s okay,” I whispered and rested against his hand, trying to hold down another bout of tears. “I don’t mind. Please.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t believe me.
“I’ll stop if you want me to stop,” I said. “But I don’t want to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” he said quietly, and took his hand away.
I ran my fingers across his buckle, giving him a few more moments for an out. With his silent permission, I tugged at the brass, releasing it with a click. The zipper teeth parted, and the fabric of his briefs pressed up against the thin wool of the tailored pants, a damp spot already forming.
I pulled at the waistband, and he helped me to slide it partway down his hips. His shaft sprang free from the cotton briefs, thick and heavy.
To say it was intimidating was an understatement.
I checked if he saw my appreciative pause. His head was tilted up to the ceiling, and throat shifted as if reciting a silent prayer.
Tentatively, I traced the thick vein pulsing along the rigid length with my fingertips, and he let out a strained hiss, but otherwise remained deathly still. A bit of pre-cum glistened at the tip.
He’s hard for me…
The thought flooded me with tingling heat, adding to my already burning, trembling core. It was impossible not to imagine it inside me, and that seemed impossible too.
Logistics. Apparently, he wasn’t being funny.
I wrapped my fingers as best I could around the base and slowly began pumping, fascinated by the way his skin moved over the rock-hard length. Letting out a shallow breath, I leaned down, beginning with slow kisses around the ridge of the head. When my lips sealed over it, his groan vibrated through my bones, encouraging me to take in the first few centimeters.
His fingers tangled lightly in my hair, but he did not push, allowing me to find my limits. And, I was grateful, because his size was scary enough, and to have it suddenly forced down my throat was a suicidal thought.
…But not a completely unpleasant one.
I took in more and hollowed my cheeks, needing to be all around him. The texture of his skin was soft, smooth. Slightly salty. My mouth grew slicker.
His hips jerked, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, his fingers working through my hair.
He throbbed against my tongue, and I traced the pronounced vein under his shaft, slowly moving up and down, trying to take a little more each time, until the saliva collecting in my mouth forced me to come up for air with a narrow gasp. That’s when his fingers tightened.
“Don’t stop,” he said, voice husky. I didn’t make him guide me down.
The drool crawled down my chin, dripping, like I was. I grew emboldened as he began to push my head as he lost focus.
“Fuck, Katya,” he rasped. “Fuck, you take me so perfectly.”
Don’t swear,I thought, and the giggle shook me but had nowhere to go, only hummed through me, forcing another moan to shudder through him. I dug the fingers of my free hand into his thigh, reveling in the way the steel muscle strained.
His composure was cracking just for me—I could live in that moment forever. It’s probably what drugs felt like.
My rhythm quickened. The salt-sharp taste intensified, and his breathing fractured into ragged gasps.
“You were made for this—” His self-control faltered, and his hand brought me down firmly as his hips came up to meet me, driving himself further down my throat. My gag reflex seized every muscle, and I jerked, but there was no space to move. Tears stung my eyes. He thrust into me, again and again, a little deeper each time—until my chest locked up, and I clutched at his thighs, a split moment from attempting to push him off in sheer panic.
“That’s a good girl,” he groaned, and in its wake hot shivers played across my skin.
No… I could take it. I would show him I could take it. For him.
“That’s agood—fucking—girl…” he growled.
I pressed my tongue flat against him and every muscle in me flexed, searching for air.
