“And this,” I say, not looking down at the paper as I sketch lower, my eyes never leaving his. “This beautiful cock of yours. I’m drawing every inch, remembering how it feels in my mouth, how you taste. The pencil moves just like my tongue did, tracing every vein, every sensitive spot.”
Pierce’s breathing is ragged now, his whole body taut with tension.
“I can see how much you want to touch yourself,” I murmur, my own arousal evident in my voice. “But you’re being so good for me, letting me capture you like this. You’re trembling, and I’m drawing that too. The way your thighs shake with the effort of holding back.”
My pencil continues its dance across the paper, each stroke deliberate and sensual. “I wish you could see what I see. How perfect you look right now, spread out for me, fighting not to come while I draw you. My pencil is making love to you through this paper.”
Pierce makes a sound low in his throat, his hips lifting slightly off the bed.
“That’s it,” I encourage softly. “I’m sketching the curve of your hip now, the way it lifts when you’re close. I can see it in your face too. That expression you get right before you fall apart. I’m capturing all of it.”
My pencil moves faster now, matching the urgency building in the room. “Every line I draw is a touch, every shadow a kiss. You’re so beautiful like this, Pierce. So perfect and desperate and mine.”
Pierce’s head falls back against the pillows, a broken moan escaping his lips.
“Come for me,” I whisper, my pencil still moving across the page. “Let me draw you falling apart. Let me capture the moment you break.”
“Oh fuck, Thatcher!”
With a cry of my name, Pierce arches off the bed, his release painting his stomach in long ropes as his hands fist the sheets. I keep drawing through it all, capturing every expression that crosses his face, every line of pleasure and release.
When he finally stills, breathing hard, I set down my pencil and look at what I’ve created. It’s raw and intimate and so beautiful. Pierce in all his vulnerable, sensual glory.
“Can I see?” he asks softly, his voice wrecked.
I turn the sketchbook toward him, and his eyes widen as he takes in the image.
“Is that really how you see me?” he whispers.
“It’s how you are,” I reply, setting the sketchbook aside and crawling up the bed to settle beside him.
“Thatcher, I need you to fuck me now,” he murmurs against my lips, and I shiver at the promise in his voice.
“Pierce…”
“I’m sure,” he says before I can voice my concerns. “I need this. It’s my turn to watch you fall apart, and I want to feel you inside me when it happens.”
The thought makes my already aching cock pulse with need. “When was the last time you?—”
“It’s been a while,” he admits. “But I want this. I want you.”
I reach for the lube from my bag with shaking hands.
“The piercing,” I say as I settle between his legs. “It’s going to feel different from what you might be used to. More intense.”
Pierce nods, his eyes dark with want. “Tell me what to expect.”
“The metal will hit different spots,” I explain, coating my fingers with lube. “Places that might not usually get direct stimulation. It’s going to be more intense, but in the best way.” I circle his rim gently. “I’ll go slow, let you adjust.”
Pierce’s breath hitches as I work him open, first one finger, then two. “God, Thatcher…”
“That’s it,” I murmur, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. “You’re taking my fingers so well. My cock is going to feel even better.”
When he’s ready, I position myself, the head of my cock slick with lube. “Breathe,” I whisper. “Let me in slowly.”
The first push is careful, controlled, and Pierce’s eyes widen as the metal ring enters him.
“Oh fuck,” he gasps, his hands gripping my shoulders. “That’s…incredible.”
