CHAPTER 19. KISS AND CONTROL
As soon as the door closes behind us, Xavier presses me against it, his hands already on my hips, his lips dragging under my jaw as he sucks a kiss into the skin.
I moan, reaching for him—my hand finding the bulge in his pants, cupping it, feeling just how hard he is for me.
Xavier groans, grinding into my hand. His mouth crashes into mine, his tongue sliding in, taking without asking. I move against him, rolling my hips, dragging our cocks together through the fabric—a rough, aching friction that makes us both moan into each other’s mouths.
“Xavier,” I breathe, my voice trembling. “Fuck me. Please.”
I can’t wait. After everything this week—every high, every crash, the constant fear of losing him—I’m too wound up to be patient. I just need to feel him. To know he’s mine. To have him inside me so I can believe it’s real.
His whole body tenses. His eyes go dark—darker than I’ve ever seen them—and he presses me harder into the door, like he can’t get close enough.
“I’ve been dreaming of hearing you say that since that dinner after the Carver case,” he growls in my ear.
I pull back just enough to see his face, desperate to know he means it. I just stare at him, stunned—my heart stumbling, then kicking so hard I feel it everywhere.
Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Did he want me this whole time? Has he been in love with me for that long?
He’s watching me too, suddenly hesitant, like maybe he said too much—but all I can do is smile, completely thrown by his words.
“You wanted me then?” I ask, my pulse loud in my ears.
He nods once, his cheeks going red, but his eyes never leave mine.
“And every fucking day since,” he whispers, voice rough—as if it’s been stuck in his throat for too long.
My breath catches. My whole body feels electric. I crash my mouth back onto his, feeling so stupid for not seeing it sooner.
I reach for his zipper, hand shaking slightly, but he catches my wrist before I can pull it down.
“Bedroom,” he says, his fingers threading through mine as he pulls me with him.
We barely make it down the hall. His lips find mine again—hot, searching. Every time our mouths part, it’s only for breath. My body’s humming, my cock a dull throb in my jeans, every step making it worse.
In the bedroom, he crowds me, backing me toward the bed. He pulls my sweater over my head, then my shirt, his mouth brushing my collarbone as I help him tug his own shirt off.
For a second, we just stand there, chest to chest, skin on skin, both of us breathing hard.
Then he pushes me back, and I fall onto the bed.
He climbs over me, kissing me again—slower this time, deeper. His hand finds my zipper and drags it down. I lift my hips as he pulls my pants and briefs off, and now I’m lying there, completely bare, the cold air hitting my skin all at once.
Xavier sits back, eyes roaming over me like he’s seeing something he’s wanted for a long time.
His gaze drifts over my chest—taking in the scars, the bruises on my shoulders, the dark marks along my sides, the bandaged thigh.
His expression shifts—dazed, almost stricken, like the sight physically hurts.
Like he doesn’t know where to put what he’s feeling.
“Come here,” I whisper, reaching for him.
That’s all it takes.
He leans in, still half-dressed, and kisses me again, hungry, almost desperate. I pull at his waistband, fumbling the button open, sliding both his pants and boxers down over his hips. He kicks them off, and now we’re skin to skin.
His cock presses against mine—thick, warm, already wet at the tip. We both gasp at the contact. I can feel him pulse against me, feel the way I shift into the rhythm without thinking, hips rocking up just enough to drag us together.
He lowers himself over me, his mouth finding my neck. He licks a path down, unhurried, until his mouth finds my chest.
Then his tongue flicks over my nipple—just once. It’s sharp, electric. I twitch under him.
He does it again, slower, then wraps his lips around it, sucking gently, just enough pressure to make my breath catch.
I shudder.
He keeps at it, lips sealed around me, tongue moving in small circles, then broad, slow laps that make my stomach tighten. I moan, fingers threading into his hair, and he hums against me like he’s pleased.
Then he moves to the other nipple, giving it the same attention. Flicking, licking, sucking—focused, like he’s memorizing every reaction. I arch into it, mouth parted, breath coming faster. Every nerve tuned to where he touches.
Xavier moves lower, his mouth leaving my chest, tongue trailing a line down my stomach. The slow drag of it makes my abs twitch.
When he reaches my belly button, he pauses—then dips his tongue in, clearly meant to tease.
I let out a shaky breath, my stomach pulling tight.
He’s not even touching my cock yet, and I’m already struggling to stay still.
And yeah, now I’m really glad I took a proper shower at the hospital this morning.
He doesn’t linger long. Just shifts lower—and that’s when his chin bumps against my cock. It makes me jerk. It’s not even a touch, just pressure, but it feels like a shock.
Xavier chuckles. I feel it against my skin. Then he moves lower.
He doesn’t touch me directly. Not yet.
Instead, his mouth moves everywhere else—pressing kisses to the lower part of my belly, the crease of my thigh, the skin just beside where I need him most.
He licks along the edge of my uninjured hip, deliberately close. And when I glance down, he’s watching me—eyes dark, as if he’s waiting to see how long I can hold it together.
“Fuck,” I breathe, brain short-circuiting at the sight.
Xavier just smirks, then flattens his tongue, dragging it along the base of my cock. I gasp, my back arching off the bed.
He does it again. He’s not stroking me, not even touching—just licking around it like he’s savoring the taste, drawing it out on purpose. My hips twitch up, helpless, chasing contact.
Then finally—finally—he wraps a hand around me, closes it over the base, and flicks his tongue up to the head. I moan, raw and sudden, like it’s been punched out of me.
He doesn’t stop. He laps at the tip in slow strokes, tongue circling the crown, teasing the slit until I’m shaking. Quick flicks, then longer licks—tracing every ridge, every nerve ending, like he’s mapping my cock.
Then he shifts lower, licking down the underside—long swipes along the vein, his breath warm against my skin—and I can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything except grind helplessly beneath him.
“Xavier—” I pant, the word barely formed.
He lowers his head again, tongue dragging beneath me now, licking gently over my balls. It’s too much, but my legs fall open on instinct, hands fisting the sheets.
Then he sucks one into his mouth—soft, wet, warm—and I cry out, control gone.
“Please,” I gasp. “Please, please—” I don’t even know what I’m begging for.
It’s all new, somehow, even though I’ve had my share of head from women before.
But none of them were like this. None of them were Xavier.
And of course he’s good at it—he’s good at everything. Why would this be any different?
That’s when his mouth comes back to the tip. He looks up at me, still holding me in his hand, and then he sinks down, taking the head into his mouth. I groan—loud, helpless, already starting to fall apart.
He keeps his eyes on me, lips stretched around me, tongue working underneath as he sucks. Slow at first—like he wants to savor it. Like he wants to feel every bit of what he’s doing to me.
The sound is obscene, and I can barely keep my eyes on his.
Xavier sinks lower, taking more of me in until I feel the tight pull of his throat around the head. My mouth falls open. I curse.
He doesn’t stop. Just keeps going—deeper. His throat stretches, swallows around me like it’s nothing. There’s no resistance—just heat and pressure.
What even is his gag reflex?
He pulls back an inch to catch his breath, then takes me again—deeper. My hips jerk.
Then he finds a rhythm. Pulling back. Sliding down. Over and over—and over.
I groan, my hands finding his hair, fingers twisting in the strands just to hold on. I can’t stop moving—my hips start rolling up into him, shallow at first, then deeper.
And he lets me. He fucking lets me.
I’m fucking his throat now—desperate, falling apart, moaning like I’ve got no control left. Because I don’t. I’m close, everything too hot, too tight—
“Xavier—wait,” I gasp, trying to pull him back. “I’m gonna come—”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t flinch. Is he even breathing?
My thighs tremble. I try to pull back, but he holds me steady, lips sealed, throat flexing around me as he takes me deeper again.
I cry out as it hits me—everything spilling over at once. I come hard, hips jerking, buried deep in his throat while he swallows around me like he fucking needs it.
By the time I stop shaking, I’m spent, too sensitive to take this any longer. That’s when he finally lets go. He pulls back, panting, and I see it—cum on his chin, smeared across his lips. He wipes at it with the back of his hand, looking up at me.
Wrecked.
Filthy.
Beautiful.
I’m still catching my breath, blinking up at the ceiling like I forgot how to exist—body wrecked, skin buzzing.
But when I glance down, I see how hard he still is.
He’s just kneeling there, flushed, his cock straining between his legs, still looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
“Come here,” I whisper, reaching for him. “Please.”
He climbs up beside me and lies on his side, his thigh brushing against mine. I’m still half-gone, and he knows it—so he just lies there, not rushing me, just watching.
It takes me a second to catch up—to my own body, to what he just did, to this sudden closeness.
“My legs are shaking,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
Xavier chuckles and presses a kiss to my cheek. I turn my head and kiss him on the mouth instead. It starts soft, but it doesn’t stay that way.