The breath that left him was audible from the foot of the bed, long and controlled and losing the fight it was trying to win. His head dropped back against the pillow for a second and he stared at the ceiling.
“You are going to be the actual death of me,” he said to the ceiling.
“Probably.” I brought my palm down again and the sound landed in the quiet room with enough weight that his whole torso tensed. “But not yet.”
I ran both hands up my chest again, slower this time, and let them spread wide across my pectorals before dragging my thumbs down along the inner line of muscle, tracing the definition there. His eyes were back on me now, wide and tracking and fully locked, and the expression on his face had the quality of a man who had made peace with the fact that he was completely at someone else's mercy and had decided he was fine with it.
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my boxers and drew them down just an inch. Held them there. Watched his eyes drop.
Then I let the waistband snap back.
“Rook.” The word came out stripped down to its bones.
“Tell me what you want,” I said, and my voice had gone low and unhurried in the way that happened when I'd stopped moderating anything. “Tell me and I'll come back.”
He lifted his head off the pillow and looked at me directly, eyes dark and fully certain.
“I want you to come up here and let me take those off you,” he said. “And then I want you to stop teasing me and put your hands back on me and not stop until neither of us can remember what city we're in.”
I looked at him for one more second.
Then I put both knees on the mattress and crawled up the bed.
He tracked me the whole way, eyes moving from my face to my chest to the front of my boxers and back up, and by the time I reached him he had pushed himself up onto his elbows and was looking at me with his lips already parted and the particular focused expression he wore when he had stopped being coy about anything.
I got one hand under his jaw and tipped his face up and kissed him.
He opened immediately, hands coming up to grip my shoulders, pulling me down into it, and I kissed him slow and thorough and deep and felt him make a sound low in his chest that vibrated against my lips. His fingers were digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave something behind and I let him, kissing him until his arms started to tremble with the effort of holding himself up.
Then I pulled back just enough to put an inch of air between our mouths.
He chased me. Of course he did.
I held his jaw firm and looked at him with his eyes closed and his mouth still open and waiting, and I gathered saliva on my tongue and let it drop.
He took it.
A full-body shiver moved through him when he did, visible from his throat down to his stomach, and the sound he made was soft and raw and entirely genuine. His tongue moved against the inside of his own mouth and his eyes opened slowly and the look in them when they found mine was dark enough to rearrange something in my chest.
“Rook,” he said, and my name had gone thick.
“I know.” I ran my thumb along his lower lip. “Good boy.”
I straightened up onto my knees and looked down at him for a moment. Then I got my hand into his hair.
My fingers curled against his scalp, palm warm against the back of his head, and I applied gentle, steady pressure downward.
His face pressed into the front of my boxers and I heard the exhale he let out against the cotton, warm and slow, and then he pressed in closer and breathed deeper and the sound he made after that was muffled and grateful and completely undone.
“Yeah,” I said quietly, keeping my hand where it was. “There you go.”
His lips found me through the fabric. Mouthing along the length of me with the cotton between us, and the heat of his breath translating through the boxers made the muscles of my stomach go rigid. His hands were on my thighs, gripping, and I could feel the slight tremble in them.
“You smell so good,” he said against the fabric, muffled and low. “Fuck. You have no idea.”
“Keep going.”
He dragged his lips up the cotton and pressed the flat of his tongue against me through it and I felt the wet warmth of it even through the cloth and the sound that came out of me was not quiet. My grip in his hair tightened and he made an approvingsound against me and did it again, slower, running his tongue in a long unhurried stroke.
