Chapter 10 Kings Don’t Sleep Easy #3
I worked my way down. He was built differently to me, leaner, the muscle long and flat rather than thick, and I traced every line of it with my palms while my mouth moved lower, cataloging the places that made his breathing change.
Then I moved to his arm and lifted it. His eyes tracked me as I did it, curious, and then my mouth dropped into the hollow of his armpit and he made a sound that was involuntary and genuine and very loud for this hour of the night.
“Fuck, Troy—”
“Shut up,” I said into the hair there, muffled, and pressed my tongue flat against the muscle and felt him twitch beneath me.
He smelled like skin and sweat and cologne worn down to base notes, just him underneath it all, the specific scent I associated with hotel rooms and the particular kind of sex that burned things off rather than built them up.
I breathed it in, licked deeper, felt his arm curl slightly, instinctive, and bit the muscle at the inside of his raised arm until he made another sound that had no words in it, just raw reaction.
His nipples were already tight, dark and peaked. I closed my mouth over the left one and sucked and his hips rolled upward under me, his cock pressing against the back of my thigh, leaving a wet streak of pre-come on my skin.
“Yeah,” he said, low and rough. “Yeah, like that.”
I bit down instead, hard enough to make it hurt.
“Fuck—”
I did it to the right one too, then went back to the left, alternating, taking my time, while his breathing lost whatever steadiness it had started with.
His hands came out from behind his head and landed in my hair and I grabbed his wrists and pressed them back to the mattress above him, pinning them there.
“Hands down,” I said.
A pause. Two full seconds of him deciding whether to comply, whether to fight me on it or give in.
He put them back behind his head.
I moved lower and dragged my mouth down his stomach, tonguing the lines of muscle there, following the trail of dark hair southward.
I pressed my lips to his hip bone, bit it hard, felt him exhale sharply through his teeth.
Then I dipped my head and ran my tongue through the crease where his thigh met his groin and he pulled in a breath through his teeth that hissed out between them.
I looked up at him.
He was staring back down at me with his jaw set and his chest flushed and his cock leaking steadily against his stomach, a slow slide of pre-come pooling at the tip and running down the shaft in a thick trail.
I reached up. Swiped my thumb through it, collected the whole bead of it in one stroke.
His eyes tracked my hand as I brought it to my mouth. I kept eye contact while I licked it off my thumb, tasted the salt-bitter heat of him, watched his expression do a complicated and entirely honest thing that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with want.
“Give me more,” I said.
He reached down. Wrapped his own hand around himself, squeezed from base to tip with deliberate pressure, and a fresh bead welled up immediately, thick and clear.
He held his hand up to my mouth and I leaned in and took it off his fingers with my tongue, sucking them clean, and the sound he made at that was low and private and nothing like the controlled version of Luka I'd walked in here to find.
I moved back up his body and kissed him.
I pulled back enough to look at him. His mouth was wet from mine. There was a spit-slick shine on his lips and his eyes had gone completely dark and the careful composure he'd walked into this room wearing was entirely gone, stripped away until there was nothing left but the raw version of him.
I gathered spit on my tongue deliberately, watching his face, and let it drop onto his chest in a thick string.
His breath left him in a rush.
I spread it across his nipple with my thumb and leaned down and licked it back off and he groaned, open-mouthed, head pressing back against the pillow hard enough that the tendons in his neck stood out.
“You're going to kill me,” he said.
“You're fine.” I moved back up his body, chest to chest, and bit his lower lip the same way I had at the start, and felt his cock hard and slick against my hip, leaking steadily between us. “How do you want it.”
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he reached over to the nightstand without breaking eye contact, picked up the bottle of lube, and tossed it at my chest.
I caught it.
“Your call,” he said.
I kissed my way back down him. Not the slow worship of before, this had more intent behind it, less exploration and more direction.
His stomach tensed under my mouth. His cock bumped against my chin as I passed it and I ignored that deliberately, pressed my lips to the inside of his thigh instead, high up where the muscle was lean and tight, felt it jump under my mouth.
“Troy.”
“What.”
“Don't.” His voice had lost its edges completely. Just the raw version of him now, the one that only came out in hotel rooms with the city muffled outside. “Stop messing around and just—”
I looked up at him from between his thighs. “Say please.”
“Please,” he said, low and bitten-off and genuinely costly, and I loved the sound of it.
I took him in. I just opened my mouth and went down as far as I could go on the first stroke, felt him hit the back of my throat and kept going, swallowing around him, taking him the way he'd taken me. His whole body arched off the mattress, spine bowing, hands fisting in the sheets.
“Fuck, Troy—”
I pulled back and went down again. Set a rhythm that was deep and deliberate, his cock thick enough on my tongue that breathing around him took attention, saliva building fast and spilling down my chin with each stroke and I didn't care about that, just kept going, one hand braced on his hip to hold him down and the other wrapped around the base working in tight twists that pulled sounds out of him that I was going to revisit later in quieter moments when I had my own hand on myself.
His hand found my hair.
At first it was just resting there, but I felt the tension building in it, felt his hips start to cant upward to meet each downstroke, felt the moment his patience gave out entirely and need took over.
He gripped my hair and pushed down.
I let him take over the rhythm entirely, his hips rolling up while his hand pushed my head down to meet them, fucking my mouth with the same deliberate force he brought to everything else.
The sounds filling the room were obscene.
The wet slide of him in my throat, my own gagged sounds when he pushed deep, his breathing coming apart above me in ragged bursts.
“That's it,” he said, rough and low. “Take it. All of it, just like that.”
I took it. Stayed loose and open and let him use my mouth, spit running down my chin freely now, dripping onto his thighs in warm streaks, eyes watering at the corners when he pushed too deep and held it a half second before letting me pull back for air.
He watched my face the whole time. That was the thing about Luka.
He always watched your face, wanted to see what he was doing to you.
“Look at you,” he said. His voice had gone somewhere dark and private. “Fucking hell, Troy. You look so good like this.”
He pushed deep one more time and held me there, my nose pressed into the hair at his base, throat working around him, and I felt his thighs shaking under my palms before he finally released my hair and let me come up for air.
I came off him with a gasp. Spit-slick and wet-faced, jaw aching in a way that was deeply satisfying, breathing through my mouth while I looked up at him.
He was staring down at me with an expression I'd seen maybe three times in all the years I'd known him. Completely undone. Nothing composed about it, just raw want and something else I wasn't naming.
He reached down and ran his thumb along my jaw, through the mess there, then pressed it to my lips. I opened and sucked it clean without looking away and his cock twitched against his stomach, another bead of pre-come sliding down the shaft.
“Get up here,” he said.
I reached for the lube on the nightstand. Got my fingers slick, reached back, worked myself open with two fingers while Luka watched with his hands behind his head again, jaw tight, watching me prep myself above him with the focused attention of a man exercising serious restraint.
“You gonna watch or you gonna help,” I said.
“Watching,” he said. “Keep going.”
I added a third finger and felt the stretch of it, the burn that was sharp at first before softening into pressure, and the sound I made was not quiet. I worked myself until I was loose enough, until the burn had softened into the edge of good, then slicked his cock with what was left on my hand.
He hissed at the contact, hips jerking up involuntarily.
I positioned myself. Got my knees either side of his hips, one hand braced on his chest, the other reaching back to guide him, and sank down.
Slowly. Even slower than I'd intended because the stretch of him was a different thing entirely from my own fingers, fuller and harder and real, and my thighs shook with the effort of keeping the descent controlled.
He was thick enough that I felt every centimeter of it, felt myself giving way around him by increments, my body accepting him one degree at a time.
“Breathe,” Luka said from below me.
“I am breathing.”
“You're not.” His hands came to my hips, not pushing, just holding, thumbs pressing into the hollows there. “Breathe through it.”
I breathed. Let the next inch happen on the exhale, felt my body accept it, and the sound that came out of me was long and low and scraped up from somewhere deep.
“God, you're so fucking—”
“Keep going,” he said. Hands on my hips now, steady, grounding. “Almost there.”
I sank the rest of the way down.