“Fuck,” he breathed, and the curse hit me like a slapshot to the chest.
Nathan Cross—the Ice Doc himself—cursing because of my mouth.
I’d only ever seen him cool, clipped, professional. Hearing that gravelly “fuck” spill out of him made my own dick throb hard against my zipper. I wanted to bottle the sound, play it on repeat, memorize every broken edge of it.
I pulled back just enough to lick a wet stripe up the underside, tracing the vein there, then sucked him down again, faster this time. My head bobbed, lips stretched tight around him, spit already slicking the way. I relaxed my throat and took him as deep as I could, nose brushing the dark hair at his base, and held there for a second, swallowing around him.
“Shit—Wesley—” His voice cracked. The hand in my hair tightened, not quite pulling, but close. His other hand slapped flat against the wall like he was trying to keep himself upright. “That’s—fuck, that’s good.”
I hummed around him, the vibration pulling another groan from deep in his chest. God, I loved this. Loved the way his thighs trembled under my palms when I braced them there. Loved the broken little sounds he couldn’t hold back anymore—the sharp inhale when I swirled my tongue just under the head, the helpless grunt when I sped up, sucking harder, wet and messy and loud. Every second of it burned itself into my brain: the weight of him on my tongue, the salty leak of precum I swallowed greedily, the way his abs clenched under the rumpled hem of his shirt when I looked up and met his eyes.
He was watching me. Pupils blown wide, mouth parted, that perfect professional mask completely shattered. Sweat dotted his temple. His chest heaved like he’d just finished a suicide drill.
I wanted to remember every single detail.
I pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting my lips to his cock, and stroked him fast with my hand while I caught my breath.
“You’re loud,” I said, voice hoarse, grinning like an idiot because I couldn’t stop. “Never thought I’d hear the Ice Doc curse like that.”
His laugh came out shaky, half a groan. “Keep going and you’ll hear a lot more.”
Challenge fucking accepted.
I dove back down, taking him deep again, setting a rhythm that had his hips stuttering forward. One of my hands slid between his legs, cupping his balls, rolling them gently while I worked him with my mouth.
He cursed again—low, filthy, “Jesus Christ, Wesley, your fucking mouth”—and the words sent heat rushing straight to my groin.
I was so hard it hurt, but I didn’t care. This was about him. About cracking open every layer of Nathan Cross until all that was left was the man making these sounds for me.
I sucked harder, faster, tongue pressing flat, throat working around him every time I took him deep. His groans turned into broken pants, the hand in my hair trembling now.
“Wesley—I’m—fuck, I’m close—”
I didn’t pull off. I wanted it. Wanted to taste him, feel him lose it completely because of me. I moaned around his cock, encouraging, and that was it.
His whole body went tight. A guttural sound tore out of him—half my name, half a curse—and then he was coming, hot pulsesacross my tongue. I swallowed every drop, working him through it with slow, gentle sucks until he shuddered and sagged back against the wall, breathing like he’d run ten miles.
I eased off slowly, pressing one last kiss to the sensitive head before tucking him back into his boxers with careful hands. My knees ached, my jaw was sore, and my own dick was still straining against my pants, but none of it mattered.
I looked up at him, flushed, wrecked, blue eyes soft in a way I’d never seen, and felt something huge and terrifying and perfect settle in my chest.
Nathan’s hand slid from my hair to my cheek, thumb brushing my swollen bottom lip.
“Wesley,” he said again, quieter this time.
I smiled, still buzzing with the taste of him and the echo of every sound he’d made.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
I sat back on my heels and looked up at him.
Cross was leaning against the wall, and he was looking at the middle distance of the room, breathing evening out, and I felt good. I felt warm and rearranged and like something that had been pulled tight for months had finally let go.
"I’m good at that, huh?" I asked.
Silence.
Not the comfortable kind.
