"You're shaking," he taunts.
"That's anticipation. You're the one who's leaking."
"So are you."
"Yeah, well, I'm not the one who's going to lose."
He laughs. A real, warm, surprised laugh. The sound does something to my stomach that has absolutely nothing to do with his hand on my dick. I've never heard Knox laugh like that—like he's actually having fun, like I'm genuinely funny, like sitting naked on my bed trying to make me come is the best time he's had all week. He looks younger, less armored. I stare at his face instead of focusing on the game, and that's how he nearly gets me. A sharp twist of his wrist sends a jolt straight to my spine, and my hips buck wildly.
I file the laugh underdangerousand refocus.
Time to escalate. I let go of his cock, slide down the mattress, and take him into my mouth in one fast, ruthless motion. The nuclear option.
Knox groans, his hips lifting off the bed. His hand tangles in my hair, and I feel him go rigid against my tongue. Got him. I work the head, taking him deep, my mouth wet and relentless. The muscles in his thighs shake under my hands. His grip in my hair tightens. I'm literally thinkinggame over, Rivera, when he yanks me off.
His hand is firm in my hair, dragging my mouth off his cock with a wet, obscene smack that echoes in the room.
"Fuck, you fight dirty," he rasps.
I grin up at him, lips swollen, his taste heavy on my tongue. "I fight to win."
He flips me. One second I'm between his legs, the next I'm face-down on the mattress with his heavy chest pressed to my back, his mouth hot against my shoulder. His breathing is ragged. I can feel how hard his cock still is against my thigh. I almost had him. My mouth was doing its job, and he pulled me off because he waslosing.
His hand slides between my legs. His fingers find my hole, already slick—I've been wet since the first fucking kiss, my body betraying me like always. He pushes two fingers inside me with the brutal efficiency of a man who’s memorized the layout.
"Hey—" I try to reach behind me for his cock, but the angle is impossible. His other hand pins my hip to the bed. His fingers curl inside me, striking my prostate with pinpoint accuracy, and my vision physically tilts.
"What was that about winning?" he murmurs against my skin.
I want to kill him. I also want him to never, ever stop doing that with his fingers. I manage to wrench my arm backward, blindly finding his cock, and start jerking him off from the most ridiculous angle. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, both of us working each other from positions designed for anything but efficiency, but neither of us stops.
"You're—not going to—I'm not losing to you—"
"You're losing to me right now."
"Fuck off, I'm—oh god, don't stop that—"
"Which one? Stopping or not stopping? Pick one."
I squirm free, flip onto my back, and drag him on top of me. He lands heavy and warm, our cocks sliding together. We're both dripping with precome, my slick making an absolute mess of my thighs, and the friction is devastating. We're face to face, breathing the same air, his cock pulsing right against mine.
"Still think you're winning?" he asks. He slips his hand between us and pushes two fingers back inside my slick hole, grinding his cock against mine at the exact same time. Thecombination—the internal pressure on my prostate and the wet friction of our cocks—is lethal.
"Come for me," he orders against my mouth. The cocky edge is back, but underneath it is something raw. Something that sounds likelet go.
His fingers press deep. His hips grind down. I'm literally in the middle of calling him a smug piece of shit, and my body just detonates.
I come so hard my vision whites out. I spill over his hand, across both our stomachs, my hips jerking up against him in sharp, uncontrollable snaps. My hole clenches around his fingers so tight he groans. I'm spurting hot and messy between us, coating his knuckles, every muscle in my body locked. The orgasm rips the insult right out of my throat, replacing it with a wrecked, high-pitched sound that lives somewhere between his name and a swear word. I will deny making it until the day I die.
Knox holds me through it, his fingers still working inside me, drawing the climax out until I'm twitching, oversensitive, and shoving his hand away just to survive it.
When my brain finally reboots, Knox is lying next to me. His arms are casually tucked behind his head, his cock still fully hard against his stomach, and his face is a picture of absolute, unadulterated smugness.
"I win," he says.
I stare at the ceiling, my chest heaving. My body is still trembling with aftershocks. I want to smother him with a pillow. He played my body like he had the cheat codes, and he didn't even finish. Lying there, victorious and rock-hard, like not coming is the ultimate power move. And it is. I hate him, I respect the play, and I fucking hate that I respect it.
"Fine," I pant. "You won. I get my question."
