Twenty-Three #3
He mumbles something in Russian, my hand finds the back of his neck, and my fingers dig in.
I keep going. Neck, shoulder, across his chest, tasting salt, heat and the faint, clean bite of aftershave.
He’s breathing hard now, and every exhale is uneven.
When I graze my teeth over one nipple, his hips jerk reflexively against me.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Detka, I swear to God—”
“Still want someone else?” I mutter against his skin. I don’t mean to say it out loud, but it slips out. His hand grabs my nape, fingers tightening in my hair, and he drags my head up hard, forcing me to look him in the eye.
“There is no one else,” he says. It comes out like a snarl, like I’ve offended him to even imply it. Something inside my chest goes soft in a way that terrifies me more than the arousal. I run one hand down his stomach and reach down between us.
His breath catches as I work the belt buckle loose, my knuckles brushing the line of his lower stomach at the edge of his waistband.
“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice rough. It’s a stupid question. I already know that, but I want to hear him say it.
“I’m sure,” he whispers, not looking away. My fingers fumble at the button of his trousers, and then I can’t stand being upright anymore.
My knees feel weak for a different reason now.
I drop, sliding down his body until I’m on the cold floor between his legs, his thighs framing my shoulders, and his hand still tangled in my hair.
From this angle, I see the flushed line of his throat, and the edge of a smile that’s half disbelieving and half feral. “Fuck,” he whispers, his voice wrecked.
For a second, everything else falls away — rank, country, danger, rules. It’s just the two of us in a crappy admin room at the edge of the world, about to cross another line.
His fingers flex in my hair, and I lean in. The last coherent thought I have as my mouth finds him is that I would burn my whole career to the ground if he asked me to.
Ari’s cock juts out, the veins standing stark against his pale skin and pre-cum glistening in the low light. It makes my mouth water. All I can focus on is the heat radiating off Ari’s body, the musky scent of his arousal, the way his cock pulses as if begging to be touched, tasted, and worshipped.
My hands land on Ari’s hips, and my fingers dig into the hard muscle. I feel the way his breath hitches, and the way his thighs tense, but I don’t give him time to prepare for it.
I wrap my lips around the head of his cock and suck. His cry is raw, guttural, and torn from his throat like he’s been gut-punched. “Fuck... fuck...” The word is more air than sound.
I don’t let up. I take him deeper, my tongue swirling around the thick ridge of his crown before I hollow my cheeks and swallow, my throat opening to take him in.
His cock hits the back of my mouth, then slides further, stretching my lips wide. Saliva drips down my chin, messy and filthy, but I don’t care. All that matters is the way Ari’s hips jerk, the way his breath comes in ragged gasps, and the way his fingers tighten almost painfully in my hair.
“Goddamn,” Ari groans, his voice a low, rough thing that sends a shiver through my whole body. “Like that... fuck, just like that...”
I pull back just enough to breathe. “Touch yourself,” Ari demands, his voice a rough snarl. “I want to see you stroke that pretty cock while you choke.”
I unfasten my belt, pulling my trousers open and yanking my aching cock out, and grabbing my shaft. My fingers wrap around the base, stroking upward in a slow, deliberate motion. The sight of Ari watching me turns me on more than I thought possible.
I dive back in, moaning around him, taking him to the back of my throat in one smooth motion, my throat constricting around the thick length. Ari’s cry is choked, his body tensing like a bowstring drawn too tight. “Fuck, fuck... Caiden...”
His breathing turns into sharp, desperate pants. My hand moves faster on my cock, and Ari’s hips lift off the desk in small, aborted thrusts. My throat works around him. I release my cock, my hands gripping his hips, holding on to him as he fucks my mouth with short, fast thrusts.
The desk creaks under him, the wood protesting, but neither of us cares. All that matters right now is the slick sounds of my mouth, the ragged breaths tearing from Ari’s lungs, the way our bodies move together like they were made for this.
Rough, desperate, and fucking perfect.
His muscles lock, and his entire body goes rigid. “Caiden... I can’t... O bozhe!” Oh my God.
His back arches, his cock pulsing violently in my mouth as thick ropes of cum shoot down my throat.
Ari’s orgasm is a silent cry, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
I don’t let a single drop go to waste. My tongue darts out to catch the last spurts, lapping at Ari’s sensitive head until he’s whimpering, oversensitive, and his body twitches with aftershocks.
Ari’s chest heaves as he comes down from the high, and I stay where I am, kneeling between Ari’s spread thighs, my hands still gripping his hips possessively. I can taste the salt, musk, and something uniquely Ari.
And I want more.
Ari’s fingers finally loosen in my hair, his touch gentling as he cards through the short strands. His voice is rough when he finally speaks. “My fucking turn.”