Her jaw twitches beneath my lips when she answers. “Yes.”
“And where am I sleeping in this arrangement?” My fingers reach the strap of her tank top and I inch one beneath it, sliding it up and down. Up and down.
Her chest contracts and expands. “Beside me.”
“And what are we wearing in this—”
In a move more swift and assured than I think she’s capable of, she twists her head and pushes her mouth against mine. Always surprising me, this one. Her mouth is warm and aggressive, brow furled in an expression that looks all frustrated and surly. She’s never been good at taking the initiative—at taking what she wants—but she’s fumbling her way for it, anyway. She puts her hand on my chest and it feels cold, or maybe my skin is just overheated, but I wind the strap of her tank top around two fingers and use it to yank her closer, plunging my tongue into her wet mouth.
She makes a breathless noise and tips her face to me, letting me take charge of the kiss. No, requesting that I take charge of the kiss. It’s the only reason I pull back.
“Aren’t you tired?” I give her an out because I suspect this isn’t really about showing ‘appreciation’。 I just wonder if she can do it. Can she fuck someone without it being repayment, or reward, or obligation, or the threat of something worse looming over her head? The way she’s looking at me, that flash of hunger beneath the small, timid gestures…can she make it about want, about desire, about us and nothing else? Because make no mistake about it, the next time I fuck this girl, it’s going to be because she’s fucking aching for it. No terms. No manipulations. No forced situations. Just us.
From the way her mouth purses, she thinks I’m being a tease. “Am I tired? Right now?” Her hand slides down my chest, over my abs, hooking into the waist of my jeans. My stomach caves at the tickle of her knuckles as she fiddles with the fly, popping it open. “Not particularly.”
I stand still and just watch as she fumbles with her instincts, throat bobbing with a gulp as she grabs my waistband and gently hitches it down. She pauses in fits and starts, like she’s expecting me to protest.
I arch an eyebrow, willing to see where this leads.
Her lip gets caught between her teeth as she casts those big eyes down, gaze tracking each slowly exposed inch of skin. She stutters to a stop when my cock appears, springing free. I’ve been hard since before she even knocked on my door. My dreams have been full of the promise of the panties I’d absconded with this morning and everything I planned to do with them later.
It’s looking like that might not be necessary.
But it’s not until she drops to her knees, her palm curling around my shaft, that I begin to actually let myself hope. I’ve never been the optimistic type. I figured the best I could count on tonight might be something that couldn’t be referred to as cuddling by anyone who wanted to keep all their digits, but let’s face it, totally fucking would be.
I hook a finger under her chin, forcing her eyes to mine. For a long moment, I just look, searching for a clue. When all I find are her dark, steady eyes, I quietly ask, “You want my cock, baby?” She answers by pitching forward and running her tongue over the swollen head, never breaking our stare. My jaw clenches at the feeling, and it’d be easy to feed her my cock, to tell myself she’s on her knees because she’s hungry for it, but it’s not enough. “Tell me.”
“Dimitri.” She speaks with her lips right against the head of my dick. “I’ve wanted it for weeks.” Her fingers blaze a trail down my thigh, and then she sinks her mouth onto me. It’s so fucking toe-curling that I let out a long hiss, watching myself disappear between her lips. She goes and goes, and she doesn’t stop, pushing me deep into the back of her throat and resting there.
It takes me so long to gain any semblance of equilibrium that by the time I do, her face is red. “Goddamn, girl.” I wind my fingers into her hair, easing her back. “Hey, hey, I’m not Tristian.”
She pulls back with a loud gasp, and her eyes, holy shit. They’re all watery and wide, and it’s true that choking girls on his dick is more Tristian’s thing than mine. But with the way her eyes shine up at me?
Jesus fucking Christ.
Fine.
I see the appeal.
She takes me shallower, watching me as I watch her back, lips and tongue sliding up and down my dick. I know she’s good at this. Even though I can see Tristian’s deft hand in the bald fucking ambition of that deep throating, I’m the one who taught her how to suck cock—guided her, molded her, right here in this very room. I talked her into getting on her knees for me. Let the others watch from the camera in the corner as she fumbled, unskilled and uncertain. Made her ask for it, just like she did now, so I could maximize my point gain. And then I watched as she steadily grew more assured, learned the ways a man wanted to be sucked and touched and handled.