Chapter 4 #2
He curls his finger again. Direct hit. My legs snap tight and my vision whites out. I choke on a curse—half praise, half warning—my head dropping back against the chair as every nerve in my body lights up and then implodes.
I come harder than I should. Harder than I have in years. My entire body jerks, cock pulsing deep in his throat, and I feel the exact moment he gags on it.
And then the little fucker giggles. Gagged and laughing, the sound muffled but so gleeful it hits me harder than the orgasm. He pulls back with a gasp, coughing once, still stroking the base of my cock with his lips parted and eyes shining like he just stole fire from Olympus and plans to fuck it.
“Jesus Christ,” I groan, breath ragged, thighs trembling, hand still tangled in his hair like I’m afraid I’ll float off without the anchor.
Elias wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Still hurting?”
I look down at him—chin shiny with spit and come, cheeks flushed, curls wild—and I should be scolding him. But all I can do is pant, stare, and finally rasp. “Not even a little.”
He climbs me. Slow and sure, all warm skin and lean muscle, dragging kisses up my torso like he can’t not.
Like worshipping me is his instinct now.
Like he needs to feel every inch of me before he settles.
By the time he’s straddling my lap again, his thighs pressed against my hips, his hands wiped clean on the corner of the towel, I’m already gone.
He leans in and kisses my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. “Missed the taste of you,” he whispers against my cheekbone. “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you come.” Another kiss. “Wanna make you do it again later. On your back. With my name in your throat.”
My breath hitches. My hands curl around his waist, grounding both of us, even though I’m the one who feels like I might float away.
“I love your thighs,” he continues, dragging his mouth along my jaw. “You get all tense when you’re close. It’s hot.” His voice drops even lower. “You moan like it hurts to feel good.”
I groan, tipping my head back, letting him do whatever the fuck he wants to me, because I’m too far gone to stop him. He’s still hard, cock brushing against my stomach, but he’s not rushing. He’s not chasing anything.
“Love this,” he murmurs, breath skating across my throat. “Love you like this. Letting me. Letting me have it. Fuck, baby—”
I catch his chin gently, tilt his face up. “I know.”
Elias finally stops climbing me long enough to collapse at my side, still naked, still flushed, half-draped across my chest like I’m the world’s most possessive lounge chair.
“That was so good,” he drawls, squirming closer until his leg throws itself over mine like a territorial cat. “Like five stars. Would ride again.”
“Mm. Lucky me.”
He pinches my side. “You’re supposed to say thank you, husband.”
I glance at him. “Thank you, husband.”
He fucking beams. Like he didn’t just finger-fuck me into the best orgasm of my goddamn life.
We lie there in silence for a few seconds, long enough for the distant crash of waves to reach us, for the warm breeze to skim over our skin. Elias hums under his breath, a little off-key, tapping his fingers against my ribs like he’s thinking. Or plotting. With Elias, it’s usually the same thing.
“Hey, Cap?”
“Hmm?”
He lifts his head just enough to look me dead in the eye, that familiar glint sparking there—the one that always means trouble. “What’s my favorite post-game snack?”
I raise a brow. “You want me to list them in order of how high you are when you eat them, or just your top sober choice?”
He stares at me.
“Pizza with barbecue sauce instead of tomato. No mushrooms. Extra jalapenos. And a side of peach rings,” I continue, pitching my voice into a passable imitation of his, “because they ‘help me think.’”
He gawks. “Okay, but that was an easy one,” he mutters, flopping back down with his chin on my chest. “What about my least favorite gym day?”
“Stair sprints.”
“Why?”
“Because you tripped once, twisted your ankle, and then spent a week swearing the stairs had it out for you.”
He groans. “Ugh, okay—fine. But my favorite Reaper that’s not you?”
“Cole. Obviously.”
“Why obviously?!”
I glance down at him, deadpan. “Because he’s your best friend. You share gummy bears like war loot. You let him touch your hair. You cried when he got body-checked too hard. And he gave us the honeymoon lube bag—which you keep using.”
He gapes again, then narrows his eyes. “You stalk me.”
“I married you.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“I know everything about you.”
He makes a high-pitched sound and tries to hide his face in my chest. “No, you do not.”
“You want to test me?”
“No! Because you’ll pass and I’ll get feelings!”
I grin and pull him closer, pressing a kiss into his curls. “Good.”
He sniffs dramatically. “I didn’t say I hate the feelings.”
I run a hand down his back, slow and easy, until I feel him melt again.
His weight presses into me, head on my shoulder now, breath evening out like he’s coming down from something bigger than sex.
And maybe he is. He’s always been like this after—soft, not quiet.
Just full of skin and heat and feelings he doesn’t want to name.
But if he gets to ask questions…So do I. “Where were we the first time you saw me naked?”
He jerks. “What?!”
I smirk. “You heard me, pup.”
“I—” He sputters. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s your game.”
He groans like I just pulled his soul out through his toes.
“Fine,” he mumbles into my skin. “Locker room. Shower. First day on the Reapers. You were… fuck, you were so hot. I was trying not to look but you were just there, all six-foot-something of broody captain energy, water running down your abs like a fucking Gatorade commercial—”
I’m chuckling now when Elias slaps my chest. “Shut up.”
“Next one,” I say, voice dropping. “What’s my favorite sound you make?”
He freezes. Slowly lifts his head. His ears are already pink. “You know it.”
I nod once. “Say it.”
He covers his face with one hand, voice muffled and tragic. “When I beg. In that whiny voice.”
My cock twitches, already half-hard again. I grin, slow and satisfied. “That little broken noise you make when you’re trying to sass me and come at the same time? When your lip wobbles and you forget what you were saying halfway through because I don’t let you finish?”
“Damian,” he groans, face going fully red.
“Mmm. That one too.”
He throws his arm over his eyes like it might save him from spontaneous combustion.
“And last one,” I add, calm as sin, “since we’re playing.”
“No—wait—”
“What’s the one thing that makes me come faster than anything else?”
He tries not to answer. He really does. But I feel it anyway—the twitch of his hips, the hitch in his breath—and when he finally speaks, his voice is barely there. “When I’m a brat.”
I hum. “Be more specific.”
“When I’m a massive brat,” he mutters, “and then drop to my knees without being told.”
I close my eyes and sigh like he’s just recited scripture. “Exactly.”
He’s quiet for a beat. Then he rolls onto me, all sharp intent and faux outrage, like he’s about to declare war. “Okay, your turn,” he hisses. “Pop quiz, Kade. Let’s see if you remember the exact brand of the lube Cole packed.”
I blink. “…I do.”
Elias gasps like I’ve committed a felony. “You pervert!”