Chapter 28 #2
Gently, I guide him down, never breaking the kiss. My hand cradles the back of his head as I lower him onto the bed, slow enough that he knows he can stop me at any second.
But he doesn’t. He lets me.
He parts his legs without hesitation, and my breath catches in my throat when I settle between them. The space he makes for me feels sacred. Offered.
Every part of him feels like fire.
His legs cradle my hips, pulling me in closer until there’s no space between us. Our bodies fit together too perfectly—his clothed erection pressed against mine, the friction so hot it’s almost unbearable.
I grind once, slow but with enough motion that he moans into my mouth, and fuck, it wrecks me. He tastes like want. Like something I could die for.
His right hands slide into my hair, pulling, twisting.
While his left hand trails my back, his nails scraping my bare skin, I groan, welcoming the pain as it fuels my need, my hips jerk forward again, desperate to feel more of him.
His body arches into mine like he’s trying to crawl under my skin and stay there.
Every scratch, every moan, every damn kiss, it’s all him.
And I want all of him.
I break the kiss, breathing hard, my mouth hovering just above his. His lips are swollen, his breath shaky, and I can’t stop staring.
“Fuck, I want you naked,” I rasp, the words scraping out of my throat like they’ve been living there too long. There’s no shyness in his eyes as he nods a desperate yes, like he wants that too.
I sit up on my knees, dragging my eyes over him—this boy who has no idea what he’s doing to me.
My hands find the hem of the tank top he’s wearing, and I peel it off slowly, revealing his stomach, smooth and pale, the subtle taper of his waist that curves like a secret.
That waist… fuck. It’s the kind of beauty that haunts you.
The kind you ache to touch and wrap your hands around.
His chest rises and falls, and my eyes lock onto those pink nipples, tight with anticipation. Everything about him drives me insane. The way he squirms, the way he looks at me like I’m the only one who’s ever made him feel like this.
I lean down, breathing him in, and press a kiss to the sharp line of his collarbone. His skin is warm and trembling under my mouth. I trail lower, kissing just beneath his throat, feeling the frantic thrum of his pulse.
His body arches, helpless, like it’s chasing the heat of my touch.
I kiss across his chest, slow and deliberate, before flicking my tongue over one of his nipples, earning a soft, unguarded sound that shoots straight to my cock.
Then I keep going down his stomach, over the delicate curve of his abdomen, until my lips are brushing just above the waistband of his sweatpants.
I pause, hands settling at his hips, and when I glance up, his eyes are glassy with need, but clear, steady, and sure.
He’s not stopping me.
I tug the sweatpants down, slow and careful, watching the way his breath catches, the way his thighs twitch. I slide them off entirely and toss them aside.
And then I just… look.
He’s laid out in front of me, completely bare. His knees are parted, his cock hard and flushed, resting against his stomach, twitching with the smallest movements. His body is slim yet firm, with soft skin and delicate edges, yet still masculine —a mix of both that leaves you completely mesmerized.
And fuck, I still can’t believe he’s mine to look at like this.
Every time I see him naked, it knocks the air from my lungs. Not just because of the physical, though the universe knows he’s beautiful, but because it’s him. Lucas. Pure and breathtaking in ways he’ll never understand. Laid bare not just in body, but in trust.
A soft, helpless sound escapes his throat, a shy, sweet sound, and it undoes whatever was left of my restraint.
My eyes drag back up to his face.
His lips are parted, chest rising in shaky breaths. His lashes are heavy, and those brown eyes, wide, unblinking, stay locked on mine like I’m the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“Everything about you is perfect,” I whisper. And I mean it. I fucking mean it.
He swallows, blinking up at me, and I can see how vulnerable he feels, how much he’s giving me just by lying there. He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t have to.
I reach out and cup his face with a tenderness I barely recognize in myself, my thumbs brushing over the warm skin of his cheeks, I lower myself again and kiss him deeply, he opens up for me with a moan, tilting his head to give me more access and I take it—take him—his taste, his heat, the little gasp he lets out when my hand ghosts down his side.
I break the kiss again, trying to contain whatever self-control I have left.
“How do you want me, Baby?” I ask in a low, rough voice barely above a whisper but heavy with meaning.
His eyes flutter. Then he bites down on his bottom lip, teeth tugging pink flesh like he’s trying to will the words out.
“I… I don’t know,” he stammers, voice small. But I can see it in his eyes, he knows exactly what he feels. He’s just never said it aloud before.
I give a soft, knowing hum, brushing my lips over his jaw.
“I know there’s something you want from me, sweetheart,” I murmur against his skin, lips ghosting his pulse. “You’ve been moving against me like you want more. Like you’re aching for it. So tell me…” I trail my fingers down his arm, watching his skin rise in goosebumps. “What is it?”
He swallows, cheeks are blazing red, but he doesn’t look away. There’s something brave in his gaze now. Fragile, but blooming.
“I want you,” he whispers. “I want… You inside me, Alex.”
The air cracks open.
Fuck.
I close my eyes for a second, steadying myself. The sound of his voice saying that, so shy and pure, pulls something deep and desperate from inside me. His eyes are wide, expectant, and vulnerable when I look at him again. But not scared. Not of me. Not of this.
“You want me,” I murmur, letting the words melt over his skin like a whispered prayer.
He nods, barely, breath catching.
“You want me to fuck you, Lucas?” I whisper it into his skin, just above his heart.
His breath stutters. He nods again, more desperate this time, and I feel the way his fingers clench in the sheets, how his body reacts to just my voice like I’ve already touched him where he needs it most.
“You want my cock inside you?’’ My voice drops lower, rougher as I flick my tongue against his nipples, “Deep. Each stroke torturous until you forget your name?”
A broken sound escapes him, and I feel his thighs tense around my hips, and when I look down, he’s leaking all over himself, his cock flushed, twitching against his stomach like it’s aching for me.
“You want me to ruin you a little, hmm?” I tease, my hands ghosting down his sides, slow, like I’m memorizing him. He arches into the touch, chasing it, every part of his body begging for more.
“Want to feel me stretch you open?” I continue, dragging my voice and tongue along his skin like silk. “Want me to fuck you slow, like I’ve got all the time in the world? Want to cry from how good it feels?”
A shiver rolls through him, his lips parting as if the air itself is too much. So I let my hand slide lower, fingers wrapping around his cock in a lazy stroke.
He gasps with the most seductive voice I have ever heard, hips lifting into my touch like instinct. His body shudders under me, so responsive that it makes my dick twitch so hard.
“You’re leaking everywhere,” I murmur, my voice low and wrecked. I slide my hand around his cock again, stroking him slowly, just enough to drive him crazy. He arches, hips lifting without thought, chasing more. A soft, choked whimper escapes him—so raw, so needy it makes my pulse thunder.
“I don’t even need lube to stroke your pretty cock” I breathe, watching him fall apart beneath my touch. “Look at you.”
“Oh shit,” he gasps, his voice breathless, strained, like he’s holding on by a thread. “Alex… please. Please.”
That’s all I need.
I smirk, voice rough with restraint.
“Alright,” I murmur, reaching for the drawer beside the bed. I take out a bottle of lube.
“Put your foot flat on the bed,” I tell him, tone firm. “Open your legs wide for me.”
I don’t know if it’s the command in my voice or the way I’m looking at him like I want to eat him alive, but he follows without hesitation. There’s a flush crawling over his cheeks as he spreads wide for me—bare, gorgeous, vulnerable.
“Good boy,” I rasp, and fuck if he doesn’t flush deeper at that. I grab a pillow and tap his hip. “Lift.”
He does so obediently, so fucking beautiful, and I slip the pillow beneath the curve of his lower back, tilting his hips up just right. The sight of him like this, laid open for me, skin flushed, cock leaking, lips parted in anticipation, makes my breath catch.
I wrap my hand around him again, stroking from base to tip with more urgency now.
His hips jerk, desperate, but I pin them down with my free hand, watching the way he writhes completely undone, gasping, moaning.
Every sound he makes is perfect. Every twitch of his body is a plea I can feel in my bones.
And just as I lower my head, ready to take him into my mouth, his body tenses, so sudden and sharp that his hands grip my wrist tightly.
“Wait,” he says, there’s a tremble to his voice now, not one of arousal but more like fear. “Please wait.”
I freeze instantly, my lips hovering above his skin.
My hands stay where they are. His eyes are wide now, panic creeping into their edges like shadows at dusk.
His dick—hard and flushed a moment ago—is starting to soften in my hands, and I don’t miss the way he swallows like he’s forcing something down.
I ease my other hand off his hips and cup his wrist gently, coaxing his grip to loosen without force.
“Hey,” I murmur, voice low and calming, “what’s wrong?”