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“Daniel.” His voice is shot. “You didn’t—”
“I’m close. It’s fine.” I laugh once. “You begging for my cock while you came without a hand on you is going to live in my head rent free until I die. I’m not having sex with you the same night you found your prostate. I’m not that guy.”
He blinks at me, dazed, glasses crooked, cum on his collarbone. “I said please.”
“Yeah. And it was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. Still no.”
I shift up his body, licking him clean as I go. I kiss him, tangling my tongue with his so he can taste himself on my mouth, and I roll my hips against his hipbone, once, twice, chasing the warmth and friction his body is providing.
“Let me,” he says against my mouth. “I want to taste you.”
“Quinn—” I laugh, wrecked, and it comes out wrong. “You just came so hard you asked me to split you open. You don’t have to pay me back. This isn’t an even exchange thing. I’m fine. I can—”
His palm goes flat on my chest, and he pushes. It isn’t hard. I’m bigger. I could stay where I am. I don’t, though, because he has the same look on his face as he gets when we are in the lab and a procedure has to be done his way.
“I didn’t ask if you were fine.” He shoves me again, and I roll, startled into it, and then I’m on my back on his comforter and his knees are bracketing my hips. “You said no to the other thing, but this is different.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You can tell me to stop.” He says it like it’s a courtesy, but he’s already kissing my jaw, my throat, a little too much teeth, novice and determined. “But I’m not going to.”
My laugh breaks. “Yeah. Okay. Fuck. Okay.”
He works his way down my chest like he’s following mental instructions. A kiss to my sternum. A pause at a nipple that makes me hiss when he nips the hard peak, too much, not enough. Fuck. He glances up to check my face and then does it again.
“You did this,” he says against my stomach. “The other day. I retained it.”
I didn’t do all of that. He is definitely making things up as he goes.
“Quinn—”
He fists my cock, a little too tight, then loosens it when I grunt, and I almost tell him I’ve got it, I can finish myself, and then his mouth is on me, and the sentence dies.
It’s messy. He takes too much at once and gags, pulling off with his eyes watering, and I start to sit up.
“Hey. You don’t have to—”
He pushes me back down by the hip.
“I know I don’t have to.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, irritated at his own gag reflex, and goes back down.
He mimics me. I can feel it. The wet line from root to tip. How he sucks my head into his mouth and tries to swallow around me. But he can’t, not yet, and he uses his hand for the rest instead of quitting. I fist the comforter so I don’t fist his hair and end up gagging him with my cock. My other hand ends up in his hair anyway, I try to keep it light, and he makes a sound around me that goes straight to my balls.
“Fuck. Just like that. You don’t have to swallow me, baby, you can—ah, shit—”
He tries anyway. He hollows his cheeks the way I did, bobs, sloppy and focused, and when I warn him I’m close, he doesn’t pull off. He looks up at me through thick lashes, with cum still on his glasses from his orgasm, and sucks.
Oh fucking shit. I moan loudly. My hips canting up into his mouth, and he gags around me as my release hits the back of his throat. He takes what he can and lets the rest hit his tongue, his lips, his chin. He swallows it all. Then he sits back on his heels, breathing hard, looking proud of himself.
I drag him up and kiss the taste of myself off his mouth.
“Overachiever,” I say into him.
“I’m ready for my next lesson,” he says with a smile.
I’m so fucked.
He’s naked in my lap and seemingly offering me the thing I already told him no about.
