"Stop fighting me," I say.
"Stop trying to own me."
I slide down his body and drag his pants off. His cock springs free, the piercings catching the dim light from the window. I know these piercings. I found them before anyone else here did.My tongue traced each one of them in my room at eighteen while he gripped the headboard and tried to stay quiet.
I wrap my hand around him and squeeze.
"These are mine," I say.
My grip loosens, and my thumb goes straight to the third barbell because I know where the nerves cluster. I press. His hips jerk. I skip to the fifth. His breathing stops. The sixth, just below the head. I press and hold. His whole body goes rigid. A sound rips out of him, low and broken.
I take him in my mouth, root to tip, tongue tracing each barbell. He groans, his hand in my hair, his hips rocking up. I pin his pelvis with my forearm and hold him flat. He fights the pin, muscles flexing, trying to thrust. I pull off and look up at him. His chest heaves, his cock wet, the piercings gleaming.
"Was she on top?"
His jaw locks. His hand stills in my hair. The room goes quiet except for his breathing.
The mark on his jaw. Four faint points of pressure. A hand gripping his face from above.
"Cole—"
"Don't."
I crawl up his body and press my forehead to his.
"I'm here. I need you to be in this room. With me."
His hands come to my face. Both hands. Holding me.
"I'm in this room," he says.
"Prove it."
I slide back down and take him all the way, the sixth piercing hitting the back of my throat. He groans. His hips buck. I pin them and work him slow, tongue dragging over each barbell, sucking the head before pulling off and taking him deep again.
He's shaking. Both hands fisted in the sheets.
"Cazzo," he breathes. "Cole,cazzo,your mouth—"
I pull off, wrap my hand around the base, and hold him there.
"Cole. Don't stop," he says.
"Ask me."
His jaw clenches. I stroke him once, slow, my thumb pressing the sixth barbell. His hips jerk off the bed.
"Ask me, D."
"Fuck you."
I do it again. Slower. Grip loose. Just enough contact to keep him on the edge. His hand finds my wrist and tries to tighten my grip. I slip free.
"Ti prego."
The Italian comes first, ripped out of him before the English catches up.
"Please. Cole.Ti prego, per favore,please—"
