Chapter 35 All Your Deepest Darkests #4
He stared at me for a long moment, clearly debating whether to give in or throw the book out the window. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, he took the book from my hands.
“Okay,” he said, flipping to the marked page. “But don’t laugh.”
“I promise,” I said, biting my lip to keep from smiling.
He cleared his throat, his eyes scanning the page. “Her breath hitched as his fingers grazed her skin, the heat between them igniting like a spark in dry kindling…”
His voice was steady at first, but as the descriptions grew more, shall we say, colorful, his cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink. I fought to keep my composure, but the way he read over certain phrases—like “velvet heat” and “aching need”—was too much. It was giving me ideas.
“Wyn, I have an idea...” I boldly proposed placing both my hands on either side of his legs and leaning on his knee, looking up at him.
“What is it?” he questioned, his gentle hand on my cheek,
“What the girl did for the guy in the story,” I narrated. “Do you…want me to do that for you?”
His eyes widened in surprise, he swallowed hard.
“Yesoh, I…” he breathed,
“Do you want me to kiss down your neck…” I planted a sloppy kiss on his throat, one after the other as he shuddered under my lips.
“To kiss you all the way down…” I trailed my fingers down his chest to just below his belly button as I lifted his navy knitted sweater revealing his happy trail and a very prominent v-line. “To touch you, down here?”
“You don’t have t—”
“I want to. I need to,” I assured him, and I immediately took notice of the outline of his arousal through his pajama pants. “Please let me.”
“Please, Yesoh.” He nodded, and I placed my hand to his chest so he could lean back onto his elbows, and that was all the confirmation I needed. “Yes.”
I traced my fingers around the outline of him, and he twitched, reacting to my taunting touch.
“Nothing in the stories could turn me on more than what’s real here with you,” he whispered, and I smiled.
I began to palm him through the fabric, and he sucked in a sharp breath. That seemed to feel good for him so I rubbed his length back and forth, and I immediately noticed a wet patch forming at the tip as he let out a frustrated whine.
“Did you…” I wondered in confusion because I’d barely done anything yet.
“No,” he assured me, “keep going, that’s just the start of it.”
Oh?
I then reached for the hem of his pants and slowly tugged them down until his length was revealed to me, the tip glistened with the precursor to his completion.
Clear and sticky, I pressed my legs together and my mouth watered at the sight of him.
He sat up and grabbed ahold of my hand, he took my thumb into his mouth and sucked on it in a way that made me open my own mouth in shock at this side of him I’d never seen before—that had been awakened by me.
Watching the way he sucked on my thumb as though it were something else entirely, looking up at me with the captivating deer-like brown eyes.
He then did the same with my index finger and allowed saliva to drip all over my palm, I then realized that that was his intent. “Use it,” he instructed, and I smirked.
I immediately used his spit to grab ahold of his throbbing, hard, slippery length, pumping him up and down slowly, watching his tip disappear and reappear even more soaked than before. “Hm, and I thought I was wet.”
“Please,” he begged. “Just for you.”
I never thought I’d see the day I had Olympic figure skating champion Wynter Kwon begging me to make him cum all over my hand.
I moved my hand faster and noticed how sensitive he was on the spot just below my thumb, and so I focused more there and that certainly drove him off the rails—he was covering his mouth so he didn’t make any noise considering my brother was right next door.
“I’m close,” he warned me, “I haven’t…in a long time. Maybe I should grab a towel beforehand?”
“I don’t care,” I assured him, “I did this because I wanted you to come for me. Everywhere.”
He closed his eyes and bit down on his own moans as I moved my hands faster, creating my own pace that made him feel good.
I grabbed ahold of his other hand that gripped the sheets in a way that said “you can let go, I’m here.
I’ll still be here when you come down.” And at that he throbbed in my hand and thick, continuous ropes of his completion covered my hand and my baby blue pajama top too—he couldn’t control it.
The sounds that fell past his lips made me want to do it all over again.
“Keep going,” he asked.
“Isn’t too much?” I questioned.
“I want it to be,” he insisted, and I did as he asked, continuing my movements. “Ah—ah.”
I didn’t know he liked it this way, when it was overwhelming.
He fascinated me—all the filthy things that were once secret, once hidden from me, were now mine to hold and treasure.
No one in the world could take away the fact that I knew how Wynter liked to fuck.
That he liked it to drive him into oblivion.
I continued until he was a mess in my arms, shuddering from the overstimulating sensations.
My sweet, gentle boy, he collapsed in my arms.
The room was silent now, the heater hummed and there was a soft rustle of the sheets. Wynter lay sprawled on his back, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. A warm flush still colored his cheeks, his hair a tousled mess against the pillow.
I traced lazy circles on his bare shoulder, watching his lips curve into a tired, contented smile. “You okay?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed. “More than okay,” he murmured, his words slurring slightly.
I pressed a kiss to his temple, savoring the warmth of his skin against my lips. “Stay here,” I said, slipping out of bed.
“Where’re you going?” he mumbled, reaching for me instinctively.
“Just getting a few things,” I assured him, gently brushing his hand away. “I’ll be right back.”
The cool air prickled my skin as I padded into the bathroom. Grabbing a warm, damp washcloth and one of his oversized T-shirts from the hamper, I made my way back to the bed.
Wynter hadn’t moved, his body sinking deeper into the mattress as if the weight of the world had finally let him go. His eyes flickered open when I returned, watching me with a soft, sleepy gaze.
“Hey,” I said gently, sitting beside him. “Let me take care of you.”
He didn’t protest, his body pliant as I carefully wiped his chest and neck with the cloth. The damp heat of it seemed to soothe him, and he let out a quiet sigh, the tension melting from his frame.
“Too much?” I asked, pausing when I noticed him flinch slightly.
“No,” he said quickly, his voice soft. “It’s…it’s nice. Feels good.”
I smiled, my movements slow and deliberate as I cleaned the rest of his skin, paying attention to every detail. When I was done, I helped him sit up just enough to slip the T-shirt over his head. He slumped back against the pillows, his head falling against my shoulder.
“You’re spoiling me,” he murmured, his voice muffled against the fabric of my shirt.
“You deserve it,” I said simply, running my fingers through his hair, smoothing the wild strands.
His hand found mine, his fingers lacing weakly through mine as he looked up at me. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“For what?” I asked, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
“For…everything,” he said, his gaze heavy with sincerity.
I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Always,” I whispered.
“I can’t wait to see your world, darling,” he expressed, “Jakarta waits.”
“Me too.”
He smiled, his eyes slipping closed as exhaustion took over. I stayed there with him, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, his head resting against my chest. His breaths grew slower, steadier, and before long, he was asleep, his body finally at ease.
I didn’t move, didn’t even think about leaving. This was my favorite part—the quiet, the intimacy, the simple act of caring for him when he needed me most.
As I listened to the sound of his breathing, a soft, steady rhythm that matched the beating of my heart, I knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be.