“Watched him take you apart.” My hands slid under his thighs, spreading him, thumbs stroking the sensitive crease there. “Watched you take it. Watched your face.” I looked up at him along the length of his body, his chest heaving, the lace stockings framing everything. “I went upstairs and I couldn't get it out of my head for days. Kept seeing your face when you?—”
“Stop.” The word came out wrecked. “If you keep talking I'm going to?—”
“What.” I pressed my mouth hard against the lace. “Come apart?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Completely honest.
I dragged my tongue up the full length of him through the fabric, felt the wet spread across the lace, felt him strain against it, and his hips lifted off the mattress and I pressed them back down with both palms flat.
He tried to roll his hips again.
I flipped him over.
One hand on his hip, turning him face-down into the mattress before either of us had processed the decision, and he went with a sharp inhale that had nothing reluctant in it. The lace pulled tight across his ass from this angle, sheer and dark against the muscle, stockings running the length of his legs and catching the city light through the curtains in a way that made my chest tight.
My hand came down.
The crack of it filled the bedroom and Troy's whole body lurched forward and the sound he made into the pillow was muffled and genuine and completely undone.
I pressed my palm flat where I'd struck. Feeling the heat radiating up through my hand, the sheer lace warm beneath my palm. He was shaking slightly. Just his thighs. Just that small involuntary tremor.
I did it again on the other side.
“Hhhff—” He turned his face sideways on the pillow, jaw slack, eyes wet. “Declan?—”
“I know.” My hand smoothed over the lace, slow, tracing the curve beneath. “I know.”
I leaned down and pressed my mouth to the small of his back. Felt the jump of muscle there beneath my lips. He smelled like sweat and heat and something underneath both that was just Troy, specifically and unmistakably Troy, a scent I'd been cataloguing without permission since the first week he'd movedback in and stood too close in the kitchen and I'd had to find somewhere else to look.
I let myself have it now. Pressed my face into the curve of his lower back and breathed in deep and slow, the way he'd done to me earlier, and felt him shiver violently.
My hands ran down the backs of his thighs. Palms against the stockings, feeling the warmth of the muscle beneath the sheer fabric, the defined shape of him. I pressed my thumbs into the backs of his knees and heard him exhale hard. Dragged both palms back up the inside of his thighs, slower, and felt him spread for me incrementally, giving me more, making space.
My mouth followed my hands. Lips against the stockings at the back of his thigh, tongue pressing through the sheer fabric, tasting heat and skin through thin nylon. I bit gently and felt him twitch.
I worked my way up.
Got my face into the crease where his thigh met his ass and breathed him in again, deeper this time, hotter and sharper this close. The lace pulled tight between his cheeks and I pressed my lips there and heard a sound come out of him that had no word attached to it.
My thumb hooked the center of the lace.
Pulled it aside. Just barely. Just enough.
He was pink and tight and perfect and I ran my thumb across him once, just once, and his whole body clenched and released in the same breath.
I gathered spit on my tongue, pressed it to the pad of my finger, and pushed inside.
The sound Troy made was not quiet.
I felt every centimeter of the way he opened around my finger, slow and warm and clenching rhythmically, his hands fisting in the pillow above his head. I stayed still for a moment,letting him adjust, my other hand stroking the lace across his hip in slow circles.
Then I moved.
Curled my finger slowly, finding angles, watching his back arch in real time, reading every shift of his spine for information. He pushed back against my hand. I pressed deeper.
“More,” he said into the pillow. Barely a word.
I added a second finger, still slick, and felt him stretch around both and the sound he made was low and long and rolled through his chest like something breaking loose. My free hand spread flat across the small of his back, feeling every micro-movement, every clench and shiver, while my fingers worked deeper.
