“Rook,” he said, and my name in his mouth had gone raw. “Rook, you're going to—” I pressed firmer and he gasped and ground back against my hand without any coordination left in it. “Fuck. Fuck, where did you — you're supposed to be new to this?—”
“I pay attention,” I said.
He laughed, a broken and helpless sound, and pressed back harder against my hand. I moved the lace aside with my thumb and ran the pad of it against him directly..
“Please,” he said against my stomach, and the single word had everything in it.
I pressed my thumb against his hole, not inside, just pressure, warm and direct, and felt him clench and release against it while he made a sound into my skin that bypassed every rational process I had left and went straight to somewhere older and more fundamental.
“You're going to absolutely kill me,” he said, and his voice had the quality of a man who would die gladly.
I stroked the flat of my palm across the red lace, feeling the heat of him through it, squeezing once more before I moved my hand back up his spine. He let out a slow, shuddering breath against my stomach and stayed there a moment, forehead pressed to my skin, breathing me in.
His mouth found my stomach again, kissing his way back down, and I got my hand into his hair and let him go where he needed to go, and felt his cock throb against the lace where it pressed against my thigh.
That was fine.
I was starting to think that was the whole point.
I gripped his hips and pulled and rolled and when the dust settled he was above me with his knees either side of my head and his weight braced on his forearms and the red lace was right there, directly above my face, and I heard him make a startled sound that dissolved into something much more interested.
“Rook—”
“Stay there,” I said, and my voice didn't sound like mine. Whatever hesitation I'd been carrying into this room had apparently been left somewhere around the third time he'd made me forget my own name, and what was left underneath it had opinions.
I looked up at him from between his thighs — the lace, the heat of him, the way the fabric had ridden up over the curve of his ass — and something in my chest went very still and very decided.
I got my fingers into the waistband of the thong.
And pulled.
The fabric gave with a sound that was more satisfying than it had any right to be, the thin lace snapping at the hip and tearingfree, and Soren made a punched-out sound above me and then dropped his forehead to my inner thigh.
“Oh, fuck.” His voice had gone to ruin. “Okay. Yeah.”
I pulled the torn fabric free and dropped it somewhere off the bed and got both hands on his ass and pulled him down.
He made a sound against my thigh that hit the ceiling.
The first press of my mouth against him was experimental, reflex, driven by about thirty seconds of looking at him and deciding I needed to. What came after that wasn't experimental at all.
He was warm and clean and faintly musky and the sounds he made when I pressed my tongue against him went through my whole chest like a bell being struck. His hips rolled back against my mouth instinctively and I tightened my grip on him and held him there and went deeper.
“Oh my god,” he said, and his voice had completely vacated composure. “Rook, where did you — how are you — oh my god.”
I pulled back enough to breathe. My hands were gripping him hard enough to leave marks.
“You're so pretty here,” I said, and I heard my own voice like it belonged to someone else. “You know that? This tight little hole.” I pressed my thumb against him and felt him clench around it. “Fucking beautiful, Soren.”
He made a broken sound that might have been my name and pressed back against my thumb.
“I've got you,” I said. “Stay still.”
He did not stay still. His hips rolled back and forth between my grip and my mouth in small helpless movements he clearly wasn't choosing, and the sounds coming out of him were the most unguarded I'd heard all night. I felt the vibration of each sound against my inner thigh where his forehead was pressed and it was doing nothing to slow me down.
I licked into him and felt him shudder from the base of his spine outward.
“Oh,” he said softly, and then, more broken, “oh?—”
