“What’s going on in there?” he asks, head tilting as he watches my face through the mask. “Tell me.”
I swallow, my throat dry. “I wanna touch you,” I admit. “I wanna be the one doing that.”
His hand slows. “Jealous?” he asks, something warm in his tone.
“Little bit,” I say. “Not gonna lie. But I’m also proud.”
Everything slows down. “Proud?” he echoes.
“You look… fucking incredible,” I say, words spilling, unfiltered. “You’re in control. You’re choosing this. Choosing me. Choosing to do something just because it feels good, and not to drown something out. It’s—” I break off, swallowing hard. “It’s really fucking hot, babe.”
Caleb stays frozen for a second. The mask hides most of his face, but his breathing changes and stutters. He lets go, hand dropping to his thigh. His chest heaves once.
“Say that again,” he says quietly.
“That you look hot?” I tease, trying to lighten the air that just thickened. “Baby, you’re so fucking sexy… I’m dying over here…”
“No… that I’m choosing,” he says. “That part.”
Emotion punches me in the sternum.
“You’re choosing this,” I say, softer now. “Choosing to play. To take up space. To be the one calling the shots. Not because your brain is on fire. Because you want to. That’s… everything, Caleb.”
His shoulders relax, tension shifting into something else, less brittle, more molten, and he climbs back onto the bed, straddling my hips. His dick presses against my stomach, leaking warm pre-cum against my skin. Leaning down, he bumps the mask against my forehead, almost like an affectionate thud.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I smile up at him, wrists flexing against the rope. “Any time,” I say. “Now, are you gonna ride me or… keep giving your hand all the attention?”
He snorts, the sound sharp and wet. “Look who’s a bossy bottom,” he mutters.
“Says the one tying me up,” I point out.
That makes him huff, then lean over to the nightstand, groping blindly until his fingers close around the bottle of lube we definitely did not leave at home.
I may have made it my personal mission to pack it… just in case.
Caleb holds it up, shaking it so the slosh of the liquid echoes in the quiet.
“Okay,” he says, back in game mode. “Breathe for me, Miggy.”
“I only breathe for you,” I say, because I like the way he twitches when I do.
The click of the cap is loud and then I’m hit with cold air as he pushes my sweats and briefs down finally, baring me fully. They go careening over the bannister and we both laugh. It’s that first touch of his lubed hand around my dick that makes my whole body arch, a choked noise ripping out of me.
He chuckles, low. “Easy,” he says. “We’re not even at the main event yet.”
“Feels like a main event,” I manage.
Caleb gives me one long, slow stroke, enough to light every nerve on fire, and then lets go.
“Edging is a hate crime,” I inform the ceiling.
“You’ll live,” he says, smugly.
I feel the pads of his fingers lower, slick and sure. He moves slowly, spreading the cool lube, rubbing circles, not rushing. When his fingertip finds that familiar ring of muscle, he pauses.
“Okay?” he murmurs. “Still green?”
