Page 48 of A Matter of Time

He followed directions quickly, and I took it from him, wanting it off, pleased he’d surrendered it and that my request hadn’t broken the spell I apparently had him under.

Once I’d draped it over the closest chair, I returned my attention to him, sinking to my knees in front of him. When I put my hands on his belt buckle, I checked once to make sure I was right, that he wanted me, and I saw him swallow hard and take a trembling breath.

“Come closer,” I whispered, and when I tugged him forward, he let me move him, sliding down so that his muscular thighs were on both sides of me. I pushed his shirt up, then leaned over and kissed the six-pack abs, my lips brushing over his navel. He shivered hard, and I smiled, because if there had been a time to protest, it was over now.

“Tell me this is okay and I can do what I want.”

“It’s okay,” he said hoarsely, his eyes locked with mine. “Do whatever you want.”

With that permission given, I unbuckled his belt, and when I unzipped his jeans, I realized how hard he was.

Immediately, I kissed over his erection, straining against the cotton of his briefs, heard his sharp intake of breath, then gently lifted the elastic of the waistband to free the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he moaned, and I smiled before I bent and licked over the wide head once, then again before easing him back, my hand on his chest, pushing, letting him feel what I wanted, making him lie back on my bed.

Once he was there, propped up on his elbows, I eased his briefs down with both hands, and he lifted for me, which freed his hard cock and allowed me to lick him from balls to head. I dragged my tongue over his hot flesh, slowly, so he could feel it, again and again until it was wet, and then I took him in hand and stroked.

His moan was good, filthy and low, which I loved, and when I lifted my gaze to his and locked there, I saw how clouded his eyes were, how steeped in need. I felt it then, how excited I was, nearly trembling with anticipation, because for once, I was exactly where I wanted to be, with a man I was already crazy about.

Leaning forward, I lowered my mouth over him, and he slipped inside the wet heat as I sucked deeply, taking him down the back of my throat. I loved what I was doing; giving pleasure. I enjoyed it with everyone, the surge of power it gave me, the give and take, the way they looked when they sank inside. But it was different this time because of the man. It had to be perfect for him, perfect for Detective Kage, who—for whatever reason—trusted me with this, his first time with a man. So I gave myself over completely to his pleasure, drawing it all out for long minutes as he started to pant. It felt good; I knew it did, because I’d been told often enough that my mouth was amazing. As I stroked and caressed him, licked and laved, making the suction strong, I heard the sounds tear out of him.

Head back now, eyes closed, his bottom lip quivering, I took a second to drink in the sight of him, lost in what I was doing to him. It was gratifying to know I could make him feel like that. His breath came in gasps, his hips rocking forward, and after a few more seconds he groaned, his fingers tangled tight in my hair. I was there, unyielding, my rhythm unchanging, sucking hard, knowing exactly when to pull back, let him slide from between my lips, and sacrifice my sleep shirt to the greater good. I stroked him as he swore and cried out, his back bowed as he arched up into my fist.

“Jory,” he croaked out my name as he spilled.

I so wanted to drink it down, then lick it off of his beautiful, long, thick, cut cock, but there was no way. Not without a lot more questions and answers between us.

I waited for his breathing to even out before I moved slowly, careful not to spook him as I rose from my knees between his legs.

“Let me help you, all right?” I said gently, then waited for the slight nod.

He watched every move I made as I finished wiping up what was left of his cum with my sleep shirt and then turned and lobbed it into the laundry basket.

When I checked his face, he looked drugged, with his heavy-lidded eyes and languid reclined pose.

“I’m not sick,” he drawled out.

There were several ways to take that. I decided to clarify. “Meaning?”

“Meaning you could have swallowed that if you wanted.”

I nodded.

“Do you like to?”

“I do,” I confessed. “But we didn’t talk first.”

“No.”

“And so you know, I always use a condom.”

“Whaddya need not to, a note that says I’m good?”

Weird conversation. “Yeah.”

He nodded, and then suddenly realized he was sitting there with his briefs and jeans pushed down to his knees. Standing quickly, he got himself righted, fiddling with his belt, fumbling around, making the buckle jingle.

I decided to take pity on him and allow him the clean getaway. “I’m having tea,” I announced into the suffocating silence. “You better get home, Detective.”