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He worked my belt open, fingers sure and unbearably gentle. By the time he got my jeans halfway down my thighs, I was shaking. Actually shaking. My cock ached so sharply it hurt to breathe, hurt to think, hurt to be.

“You can’t come yet, Yuriy,” he murmured, like he wasn’t the reason I was coming apart. “That’s your punishment. No matter how good my lips feel on your cock, you can’t come until I’m riding you.”

I bit down on a groan that still managed to escape in pieces. My head knocked back against the couch as he leaned in and wrapped his lips around my cockhead. My wrists strained against the silk tie, which kept my hands restrained behind my back. The pressure made everything sharper.

Fuck.

His mouth.

I clenched my fists, fighting the pull, fighting the sharp, devastating climb that his mouth dragged me into with steady, sinful insistence. Over nine months, he’d learned everything there was to know about my cock and used it against me. Every hungry lick, every smack of his lips, every obscene little pop of his lips when he pulled back, just to take me deeper again. It all went straight to my spine.

“Stas—fuck—” My voice cracked, betraying me.

He hummed around me. Actually hummed. A low vibration that shot straight through my nerves like he’d hooked me up to live electricity.

My hips jerked helplessly. He held me down with one palm flat against my thigh, pinning me like I weighed nothing.

“Don’t,” he warned softly, pulling back so that his breath ghosted against the head of my cock. “You come without my permission, and I swear I’ll lock you in here for a week and make you my personal sex slave.”

My entire body seized.

God help me, I almost came.

He thought that was a threat? Laughable. I would gladly live the next seven days inside his body.

He smirked—felt my reaction more than saw it—and rewarded me by taking me back into his mouth, slow this time, every inch sinking into heat so perfect I could barely think. Stars burst behind my eyes, and my pulse hammered violently in my throat.

I groaned, long and broken, fighting the instinct to thrust deeper, fighting the desperation clawing up my spine like a live wire. The tie around my wrists bit into my skin as I strained against it, needing to touch him—his shoulders, his jaw, that ridiculous skirt riding up his thigh—but unable to reach anything but empty air.

“Stas—please,” I rasped. “I can’t⁠—”

He pulled off me with a sinful, wet sound that nearly tore my soul out. My cock stood flushed, throbbing, slick from his mouth.

“Yes,” he murmured, voice dark and promise-heavy. “You can. And you will… when I let you. I want you to hold on until I’m right there with you. You can do that for me, can’t you, kroshka?”

Stas rose slowly, savoring every second of my unraveling. “Stay right there.”

He turned, stepping onto the couch, with his feet on either side of me, positioning himself above me. The skirt shifted with each movement, taunting, sinful, giving me a peep show of his well-loved hole, which I’d used as often as I could over the past nine months—which wasn’t nearly enough.

He backed up until his ass was in my face, and I strained forward.

“Oh god,” I groaned as he grabbed the back of my head and pushed back, smothering my face between his cheeks. I stuck my tongue out and licked around his rim. He moaned above me, the sound vibrating down to my very core. I swirled my tongue around his hole, teasing his sensitive skin.

My cock throbbed painfully against my stomach as the soft fabric of the skirt brushed against my cheeks.

“That’s so fucking good, Yuriy.” He pressed my face even harder while grinding his ass against me. “Eat my slutty hole, baby.”

It was amazing the changes in Stas and how liberated he’d become since we started having sex. Now he craved and begged for the objectification and feminization before I even doled it out.

I simultaneously fought for air while greedily slurping on his hole. Both were a need I couldn’t let go of.

Stas curled his hand around my dick, and I pumped my hips, fucking into his fist. The pressure was intoxicating, unbearable, the friction of his palm against me a tormenting pleasure.

My hands strained against the silk ties, yearning to roam his body. I wanted to touch him, to feel the hardness of his muscles, the trembling of his thighs, the smoothness of his skin. The very thought sent raw bolts of need streaking through my veins, and I groaned in frustration.

“Stas,” I gasped when he finally released my head so I could breathe. “Hold yourself apart for me. I want to fuck you properly with my tongue.”

“Is this what you want, Yuriy?” He spread himself apart with one hand and slipped his middle finger inside his wet hole, followed by another. His groan filled the room as he fucked himself down to the second knuckle.