My hips moved forward without asking me first.
He took the hint. His mouth worked over me through the boxers with genuine focus, learning the shape of me through the fabric, and the sounds he was making against the cotton were muffled and continuous and doing things to my nervous system that required active management to survive.
“Take them off,” I said. “Use your teeth.”
He got his teeth into the waistband.
It took him a moment, working the elastic down by degrees, using his lips and tongue and the edge of his teeth, and the warmth of his face pressed against my hip and stomach in the process was its own specific torment. The boxers cleared my hips and dropped, and I stepped out of them and knelt back above him, and the cool air of the room on my skin was a relief that lasted exactly as long as it took his mouth to find me.
He kissed along the length of me with the same unhurried patience he had apparently decided was his permanent approach to ruining me, lips warm and open, and then he ran his tongue up from the base to the tip in one slow, deliberate stroke and I pressed the back of my head against the headboard and looked at the ceiling.
“Soren—”
He did it again. Taking his time. Learning me with his mouth the way I'd learned him with mine, going by the sounds I made rather than any particular script, adjusting his pressure when my thighs tensed and slowing further when my breathing changed.
His tongue circled the head of me and the sound that came out of my chest was low and sustained and completely past managing.
I pulled back.
Not because I wanted to. Because if I didn't, this was going to end before I was ready for it to end, and I had plans that required more runway than I currently had left.
He made a sound of protest against my thigh, lips chasing where I'd been, and I reached past him to the nightstand.
The cock ring had been sitting there since before he'd woken up. I'd put it there the same morning I'd bought the lingerie, both purchases made in the same quiet hour before he was awake, filed under the category of things I wanted without being particularly surprised that I wanted them.
I picked it up and held it out.
He looked at it. Then at me. Something moved through his face that was past arousal and into something more deliberate.
“Put it on me,” I said.
He took it from my fingers slowly.
He sat up properly, both hands working, and the focused attention he brought to the task was its own specific thing to survive. He took his time with it, fitting it carefully. And when it was seated at my base he wrapped both hands around me and just held there for a moment, feeling the difference in weight.
The ring made me look like something that required a conversation before proceeding.
“Still want this?” I said, and my voice had gone rough at the edges.
He looked up at me from under his lashes with his hands still wrapped around me and said, “I have never wanted anything more in my entire life.”
I got my hand back into his hair.
I guided him forward and he opened for me and the wet heat of his mouth closing around me with the ring at my base made every muscle from my thighs to my jaw go rigid simultaneously. He worked down as far as he could, which was considerable,and the sounds he was making around me were muffled and continuous and vibrating through me in waves.
I held his hair and let him set the pace for a minute. Then I pulled him off by the hair and heard the wet sound of it and the rough exhale he let out when he surfaced.
“Edge of the bed,” I said. “On your back. Head over the side.”
He moved immediately.
He repositioned himself so his shoulders were at the mattress edge and his head tipped back over it, throat exposed, the long line of his neck presented upward, and I stood at the side of the bed and looked down at him from above and felt the full weight of what I was about to do settle into my chest.
I reached down and ran my thumb along his throat. Felt him swallow against it.
“You good?” I said.
“Yes.”
