“It is absolutelynotthe same thing.”
The tension hadn’t disappeared, but it had loosened, enough that he settled back into the mattress instead of holding himself rigid.
“Again,” I said.
This time he corrected me properly, slower, breaking the word apart, guiding me through it. I followed, closer now, repeating it until it resembled something almost recognizable.
“That is… acceptable,” he said, although the corner of his mouth gave him away.
“High praise,” I said, my hand drifting lower, pausing long enough to feel his reaction before I moved again. “What’s next?” My fingers reached his nipple.
He hesitated longer this time before giving me the word, and when I repeated it, his breath caught, his composure slipping enough to make my chest tighten.
We kept going like that, slow and deliberate, each word pulling something new out of him, each repetition less careful, less structured. The color in his face deepened, his breathing uneven now, his control no longer something he was holding perfectly in place.
By the time my hand reached the waistband of his pants, I paused, watching him.
“We’re getting into advanced vocabulary now.”
His gaze flicked to mine, unsteady. “You are enjoying this.”
“A little,” I admitted, sliding a finger beneath the fabric.
My heart lurched.
This is gettingreal.
The shocker was that I was okay with that. Sure, I was dealing with my own set of nerves, but underneath it all, this was heady as fuck and I wanted more.
His breathing hitched sharply. “I do not think you need to learn everything,” he said, the words breaking up.
“Oh, I think I do.” I shifted up again, catching his mouth, and this time he met me without hesitation or restraint. “Mostly,” I murmured against his lips, “because I really like how you react when I get it wrong.” Then I went back to his pants, trailing a finger along the stony length of his dick that fought for release from its fabric prison.
Luka was hard—for me—and that lit a fire inside me.
He lay so still that I had to check we were still together on this.
“You’re not stopping me.”
“No,” he said, swallowing.
“And what do you call this?” Another light touch on his erection.
When he said it, barely above a whisper, I didn’t repeat it immediately. I simply looked at him, letting the moment stretch.
Then I said it back, perfectly.
Luka’s pupils were huge.
He grasped my hand around the wrist and brought it to his crotch, his breathing ragged.
This time, neither of us laughed.
“I didn’t see this coming,” I admitted, my voice cracking a little. I could feel the warmth of him through the soft fabric, how his cock jerked at my touch.
“Can you not mention that last word? Not yet, at least.”
I chuckled. “I’m talking about the fact that when I pictured being at the Olympics, having my hand on another man’s dick wasn’t in the plans.”
