We walk down the hallway and land on my bed. His weight settles over me and I hook one leg around his hip. I run my thumb along his jaw.
He lowers himself and kisses me slow. Then less slow. His hand traces down my side and I arch up and the laugh that comes out of me is involuntary.
“Are you ticklish?” He pulls back and looks down at me.
“I didn’t know that was still a thing.”
“You didn’t know you were ticklish.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot you were ticklish.” He presses the spot again. Deliberately. I twist away laughing and grab his wrist and he’s laughing too, the sound rumbling through his chest, and I flip him and pin his wrist above his head and his eyes are bright with challenge.
“Don’t.” He’s giving me a look that’s daring me.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You were going to.”
“Prove it.” His voice is low and warm and daring and I kiss the grin off his face and his free hand slides down my back and pulls me flush against him. My hips press into his and the sound he makes is quiet and private and I want to hear it again.
He rolls us back, easy, his hands on my waist guiding me under him. His mouth trails down my jaw to my neck and his teeth scrape the tendon below my ear and my hips push up on instinct. He does it again, slower, and I feel the grin against my skin while he does it.
His mouth moves to my collarbone and his hand slides down my stomach, fingers tracing the line of hair below my navel, slow and deliberate and going nowhere near where I want him. His palm flattens against my hip and his thumb traces the hollow above the bone and stays there, making small circles, and my whole body is paying attention to that thumb while the rest of him is kissing my chest like he has all night and no plans to speed up.
“Zay.”
“Mm.” His tongue drags across my nipple, flat and slow, and I exhale hard.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“No such thing.” Another slow pass with his tongue, and his thumb is still tracing my hip, and he’s not touching me where I’m hard and obvious against his stomach and the patience of this man is going to kill me.
He looks up and his eyes are warm and sharp and entertained. “You’re welcome to submit feedback.”
“My feedback is that you’re taking too long.”
“Noted.” He drops his mouth to my ribs and works his way down, press of lips, scrape of teeth, his hands on my hips holding me still when I try to push up. He reaches the waistband of my joggers and hooks his fingers in and pulls them down slow, taking my briefs with them, and the cool air hits my cock andI’m so hard it’s almost funny. He wraps his hand around me and holds me there. Just holds. Looking.
“Feedback window is still open,” he says.
“I’m going to kill you.”
He tightens hand into my cock and I make a sound that is not a word and his grin widens.
“That’s more like it.” He strokes me once, slow, thumb dragging over the head, rubbing the drop of precome around. I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. He does it again and watches my face while he does it and the combination of his hand and his eyes makes the heat build embarrassingly fast.
He lowers his mouth and takes me in his mouth. His mouth is hot and wet and sure and he takes his time, unhurried and precise. There is absolutely nothing clinical about the way his tongue drags up the underside and swirls over the head.
“Fuck.” My hand finds the back of his head. “Right there.”
He pulls off grinning up at me, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me. His lips are wet and his hand is still moving slowly. “Any more feedback?”
“I hate you. That’s the feedback.”
“Noted.” He takes me deep again and the world narrows to his mouth and his hand. He’s finding the rhythm I respond to and locking it in, and when my hips start pushing forward he lets me, opens for it, his hand gripping my thigh. The heat builds in a wave, cresting, and I’m close, I’m right there, and he pulls off again.
“Zay. What the fuck!”
