Chapter 28 #3
He bites his lip, averting his gaze. There’s a war going on in his head. I can see it. Like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how. Like the words might choke him.
“I can’t…” he mumbles, then stops himself. His jaw clenches. “I can’t do it to you. I won’t be able to.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
His voice is thin, barely audible.
“If you… You go down on me. I won’t be able to return it. I don’t… I don’t think I can ever do that.”
The words come out broken, soft, like they hurt to say. And for a moment, I just stare at him, at the way his fingers tighten around the sheets, the way his chest rises too fast, like he’s bracing for something worse. His shoulders are curled inward, protective. Defensive.
I hadn’t expected him to return the favor.
Hell, I hadn’t even thought that far ahead.
One look at that mouth—small, pink, too damn pretty, and I know I could never make a mess out of it if it isn’t what he wants.
But it’s more than that. The way he panicked.
The way just thinking about it sent him into this spiral, like the act itself touches something darker he hasn’t told me.
I want to ask. I want to dig and understand what he’s actually scared of, but not now, not like this. I’m not going to let this moment become something else he has to survive.
So I move gently, sliding closer and cupping his face. My thumb brushes over the heat of his cheek, and his eyes flick to mine, wide and glassy. There’s still panic there, but beneath it is something else. Something softer. Like he’s looking at me like I might save him without even trying.
“Baby,” I say, and it breaks something in him. His breath catches, and I see it, that flicker of hope like he didn’t think I’d still call him that. Does he think I’ll get mad at him?
I tilt my forehead against his, voice low, honest.
“I’m not doing this because I expect anything from you.” I pause, letting the words settle between us, hoping they land in the space that’s still shaking inside him.
“I’m doing this because I like you, Lucas.
Because I want you. Not just your body, not some fantasy of what you think you’re supposed to give me.
” I stroke my thumb along the edge of his jaw, grounding both of us.
“You let me in. You let me see you. And that’s more than enough. You don’t owe me a damn thing.”
His breath shudders against my skin. He doesn’t speak, but I feel it in the way he leans into my touch, how his body slowly unwinds, how the war in his eyes starts to quiet.
“If you can’t ever do it… I still want you,” I say, looking deep into his eyes and showing him just how much I mean it.
“I want you soft and trembling and flushed like this. I want to make you feel good just because I can, and because you deserve to be touched right, let me take care of you, krasivy, and all I want you to do is just lie here and be my pillow princess.”
His breath shudders, lashes trembling as he lifts his gaze to mine—searching me. Like he’s trying to find a crack in my words, some hidden intention I never spoke aloud. But I let him look. Let him see me, all the way through.
And when he doesn’t find a lie, when all he sees is want and tenderness, he softens, and a small, shy smile curves his lips. It’s hesitant, like it hasn’t been allowed to exist before.
“Okay,” he breathes, barely audible. “Do you… still want to take me… in your mouth?”
“Yes.” My answer is immediate, unflinching. “I want to taste you, Lucas.”
I reach up, brushing a stray curl from his eyes, letting my fingers linger.
“I want your pretty cock in my mouth. And I don’t want anything back. No favors. No expectations. Just you.”
Something in his chest releases with that.
He breathes slowly, and his fingers begin to trace up my arms, tentative at first, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away, but I don’t.
I stay still and let him explore me with those soft, delicate hands; they settle over my chest. He exhales shakily, and then one hand trails higher, up my neck, over the side of my face.
His touch is reverent. Careful. Like he’s memorizing me, like he’s still struggling to believe I’m real. That I want him this way.
He’s never touched me like this before, not when we weren’t already tangled in heat, never let himself be this free and open.
His hands settle on my jaw, and his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth. He holds me there, eyes flicking back and forth between mine, his chest rising and falling like waves against a storm.
And then he whispers it.
“Okay, Alexander,” he says, my name soft on his lips like a prayer, like he’s offering something sacred. “You can taste me.”
That’s all it takes.
My control snaps like a taut wire, and I surge forward, crashing my mouth against his. He opens to me instantly, eager and breathless, the kiss is messy and desperate and fucking perfect. His fingers curl into my hair, pulling me closer, as if he needs to feel every inch of me pressed against him.
And fuck, the sound he makes when I push my tongue deeper—it’s filthy. A raw, needy moan that goes straight to my cock.
This moment isn’t just about heat; it’s about being allowed and being trusted. And I’m going to worship every inch of him like he deserves it.