He did it again. Finding his rhythm, adjusting the angle, and when he found the right one his jaw went slack and his hands tightened against my chest and he started to move properly. Rising and dropping, each descent taking me completely, each lift dragging against every nerve ending I had.
“Look at you, Troy.”
He looked down at me and his expression did something complicated and then he flexed. Not performatively. Just the natural flex of a man using his body, the muscle of his thighs and stomach engaging with each roll of his hips, and the sight of it made my hands grip his thighs hard enough to leave marks.
I spit on my hand.
Wrapped it around his cock and stroked in time with his movement.
The sound he made at the first stroke was sharp and high and he bucked forward into my fist, lost his rhythm for a half second, then found it again, working against both my hand and my cock simultaneously, chasing everything at once.
“There,” I said low. “That's it.”
His head dropped back. The long line of his throat exposed, jaw tight, moving above me with an abandon I hadn't seen on him before. Every careful wall gone. Just him. Just this. Just the raw reality of what we were doing in the dark.
He leaned down and spit onto my chest.
I pulled him down by the back of the neck and kissed him hard and he groaned into my mouth and his hips kept moving, relentless, and my fist kept working his cock between us and I felt him getting closer in the way his whole body was starting to tighten, thighs shaking against my hips, sounds going higher and less controlled.
“I'm—” He pulled back from the kiss, forehead dropping to mine. “Declan, I'm close?—”
“I know.” My grip on his cock tightened. Felt myself getting there too, felt the heat building at the base of my spine, the tightening in my thighs. “Together. Come on.”
“Hhnn—oh god—together, don't stop—don't?—”
He clenched around me so hard my vision went white.
I came with my face pressed into his neck and his name on my lips and my fist still working him through it, felt him spill over my hand and across my stomach in long pulses, felt him shaking apart above me while I buried myself as deep as I could go and came undone inside him.
We stayed locked together. Both shaking. Both breathing like we'd surfaced from somewhere very deep.
His forehead pressed to mine.
Neither of us said anything for a long time.
SIXTEEN
MORNING, INTERRUPTED
TROY
Wet heat wrapped around my cock, pulling me up from sleep in slow waves that made my brain struggle to catch up with my body. My cock was filling out fast, and there was a mouth on me doing things that made my hips jerk before I was even fully conscious.
My eyes opened. Morning light filtered through the curtains, turning everything soft and golden. I was in Declan's bed, completely naked with the sheets twisted around my legs.
And Declan was between my thighs with his mouth around my cock.
The word came out strangled. My hand went to his hair automatically, fingers threading through the dark strands. “Declan, what?—”
He pulled off just enough to speak. His voice was rough with sleep, eyes dark and focused on my face. “Morning.”
Then he went back down, taking me deep enough that I felt the back of his throat.
My head fell back against the pillow. “Fuck.”
I looked down and the sight nearly finished me right there. He looked fucking obscene like this. His hair was messy from sleep, his jaw working, spit slicking his lips and dripping down my shaft. His shoulders were broad and bare, muscles flexing with each movement, and I could see the marks I had left on his neck last night. Dark bruises that looked like claims, like proof that this had happened.
My stepfather. On his knees. Sucking my cock like he was born to do it.
