“Shut up.” But he thrust into my hand, which answered the question better than words would have.
I stroked him slowly and deliberately, just watching his face while I did it, watching the careful control he always wore crack slightly at the edges. His jaw went tight. His eyes stayed on mine, fixed and intent.
“You really want to play this game right now,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”
He grabbed my wrist and stopped my hand moving and walked me the remaining two steps to the wall, pressed me into it with his bodyweight, both wrists pinned above my head in one hand while the other ran down the length of me, unhurried, from my chest to my stomach to my cock where he wrapped his fist around me and did exactly what I'd done to him.
He leaned in, but not to kiss my mouth.
His face dropped to the inside of my raised arm, and I felt the flat of his tongue drag slow and hot through the hair there, right into the hollow of my armpit, and the sound I made was not dignified in any way. My hips pushed forward against nothing. His fist on my cock had stopped moving entirely, just holding, and the contrast between that stillness and what his mouth wasdoing to my armpit was making my legs unreliable. The wet heat of his tongue was obscene, deliberate, licking into the hair and pressing his lips there like he was savoring it.
Then he bit the muscle of my inner arm just above the hollow and I pulled hard against his grip on my wrists and he held it without effort, pinning me there while he went back to his work. Licking into the hair, pressing his lips there, making low sounds of appreciation against my skin that vibrated all the way down to my cock. He was taking his time, mapping the territory, and I could feel myself leaking against his still hand, pre-come sliding down the underside in a steady drip.
He worked the left one until it was raw and oversensitive, then crossed to the right and did the same, his hands flat on my ribs the whole time, thumbs pressing into the muscle on either side while his mouth did what it wanted. I had my hands in his hair by now, not directing, just holding, needing a place to grip while he took his time turning me inside out.
He dropped lower. His mouth traced the line down my sternum, the ridge of my abs, pausing to dig his tongue into the dip of my navel in a way that made my stomach muscles clench hard. Then lower still, following the trail of hair that ran south, his hands tracking the same path down my sides, my hips, the jut of my hip bones.
He didn't touch my cock.
Just breathed against it, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his mouth, and then moved his mouth to the crease of my hip and bit down hard enough to leave a mark.
“Luka.” His name came out rough and cracked at the edges.
“What.” He pressed his lips to the bite mark, gentle now, contrasting pressure that made the sting worse somehow.
“Stop making a point and put your mouth on me.”
He looked up from where he was crouched. Dark eyes, jaw tight, expression that said he found this deeply amusing and wasn't done torturing me yet.
He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of my thigh, high up, close enough to be cruel. Then he stood, all the way up, and turned me toward the wall with both hands on my shoulders and pressed his chest against my back, his cock hard and hot against the curve of my ass. I could feel every inch of him there, the weight and heat of it pressing into the cleft, and my cock was dripping steadily against the wall now, leaving a wet smear on the paint.
His mouth found the back of my neck. Bit the skin there hard enough to pull a gasp out of me. His hands came around to my chest, finding my nipples, rolling them between his fingers while his cock pressed against me from behind. The dual sensation of his teeth on my neck and his fingers on my nipples made my hips cant back instinctively, pushing my ass harder against his cock.
“Tell me what you want,” he said into the back of my neck.
I let him work me for another ten seconds. Let his fingers do what they were doing and his cock press into the cleft of my ass and his mouth drag wet and hot across my shoulder blade. Let it build until my spine was tight and my cock was leaking against the wall in a steady stream and I'd had exactly enough of being patient.
“Your mouth,” I said. “On my cock. Now.”
He went still behind me, and I could feel him smiling against my skin.
“Please?” he said, and there was amusement threaded through it, genuine warmth underneath the edge.
“Don't push it.”
He turned me around.
One hand on my shoulder, spinning me to face him, and then both hands hit the wall either side of my head and he was in myface, close enough that I could feel his breath, close enough that I could see the exact shade his eyes had gone. Dark and intent and completely certain of what he was about to do.
He kissed me once. Hard and brief, more punctuation than affection, teeth catching my lower lip before pulling away.
Then he dropped.
He took his time getting there, mouth dragging down my throat, teeth at my collarbone, tongue tracing the center line of my chest. He paused at my stomach, pressed his lips flat against the muscle there, and I felt them curve. He was smiling against my skin and I was going to kill him for dragging this out.
“Luka.”
