36 - Milo
Milo
I PROMISED I’D behave. But it was hard.
So hard.
I stared up at the ceiling, blanket drawn up to my chest. My feet rubbed together anxiously, earning me an irritated glance from Jasper.
The fleeting attention only made me hungry for more, and as his focus returned to the highlighted passages in a PDF reader on his phone, I cursed its existence in silence.
Course readings. Journal articles. The constant scrolling, pausing, and re-reading.
Wasn’t I more important?
I shifted, brushing my foot against his.
He looked again, a brow raised. I was pushing my luck after I’d agreed not to get in the way if he stayed in bed next to me while he studied.
When he ignored my bid for attention again, I turned onto my side and rested my head on his forearm.
He shook me off, my head rolling back onto the cool pillow.
He hated me.
“Are you finished?” I mumbled.
“No,” he said sternly.
“It’s been hours.”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Same thing.”
He heaved an exasperated sigh.
The alarm bells were already going off in my head, signalling that I was doing too much—being too much. I ignored them, a slave to my own impulses.
I pulled the blankets over my head and got lower on the bed, situating myself between his legs and resting my head on his thigh. He reached under the blankets with his free hand and began stroking my hair.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked, able to be vulnerable with my face out of view.
He didn’t answer.
Frustrated, I lifted my head and hooked my fingers into the waistband of his joggers and underwear, tugging them downward. With my head covered, it was dark, but I could still see the way his stomach sucked in as I exposed more and more of his skin.
He didn’t stop me.
“You’re distracting me,” he groused.
I just wanted to be close. I wanted to be held, touched, kissed. I had to be sure he hadn’t stopped needing me as desperately as I needed him in the last five minutes. I needed to be under his skin, to be the blood pumping through his veins with every beat of his heart.
I kissed his hip bone, my heart swelling with the way his cock twitched at the attention.
It spurred me on, and I kissed lower, raking my nails over his thighs and stopping just short of the rapidly hardening length at their apex.
There, I nuzzled against him, the coarse hair at his base gently scraping my skin.
“Milo,” he breathed.
“Pretend I’m not here,” I begged, afraid he might deny me this closeness.
He fisted my hair, tugging at it once before his grip slackened in permission.
I licked a strip up the underside of his cock, flicking my tongue over the tip.
His skin raised with goosebumps beneath my fingers, and I took it as encouragement, sucking the warm head into my mouth and holding it there.
“I’m studying,” he said breathlessly.
“I’m helping.” My voice was muffled as I spoke around sensitive flesh.
I couldn’t see him, but I was sure he was rolling his eyes.
At first, I didn’t move. I just held him in my mouth until he eventually began to soften between my lips, and then I’d drag my tongue over him some more, sucking softly to feel it thicken all over again.
“Get up here, you little freak.”
I considered biting him, my teeth sinking into his cock ever so slightly. His fingers flexed in my hair, tugging on my scalp as he urged me to move. Reluctantly, I crawled up his body, blankets stirring.
My inner thighs bracketed his hips, the blanket falling away and pooling at his knees. I squinted at the light pouring in through the bedroom window, a shudder rolling through me as he rested one hand on my waist.
He was sitting upright, his back resting against the headboard, that stupid phone in his hand. His cheeks were flushed, brows creased, and a frown tugged at his lips.
“Take your pants off,” he ordered.
“No.” I folded my arms over my chest.
“What?”
“You’re busy.”
“Milo.”
The demand in his voice gave me a thrill. It took some awkward shuffling around, the bed creaking in protest with my movement, but eventually I managed to get myself bare from the waist down.
“Your shirt.”
“It’s cold in here!” I complained.
“Your shirt,” he repeated.
I begrudgingly followed that instruction, too, pulling my shirt over my head and casting it aside, leaving me completely exposed.
I rubbed my upper arms self-consciously, trying to hide all of the raised scars from view.
It was instinctive, even though he never seemed to look at them.
Surely, he knew they were there. He’d seen and felt them before.
Maybe he didn’t like how they looked.
Didn’t like the way I looked.
Jasper set his phone on the nightstand and took off his own shirt, distracting me from my negative thoughts. He settled back against the headboard and pulled me against his chest, enveloping me in his body heat. I buried my face into the crook of his neck and closed my eyes, breathing him in.
From there, I heard the nightstand drawer opening and closing. There was the sound of a lid popping open, a soft squirt, and then the slick noise of something wet lathering over skin.
I tensed as he grabbed my hips, one hand tacky with what must have been lube. I didn’t stop him from guiding me, his cock smoothing over my ass while he rocked me, catching on tight, unprepared skin with each slide—testing, teasing.
I was bracing for him to press inside with little preamble, but he never did.
Instead of his cock, one finger circled where I needed him most, maddeningly slow.
I rolled my hips into it, begging silently to be filled, even just a little.
My wanton grinding had my own cock rubbing against his stomach, already hard and weeping.
“Stop that,” I whined.
“Okay.” His hand fell away.
I bit his shoulder.
My breath hitched as he abruptly plunged a finger still tacky with lube inside, right down to the knuckle. A prickling heat tore through me with the intrusion, settling only when he went completely still. My whole body trembled, and I couldn’t help but push into his hand. I needed him to move.
“Is it so hard to say what you want clearly?” Jasper asked, pressing his lips to my temple.
It was.
The kiss felt patronizing, only adding to my mounting frustration. But I couldn’t stop grinding into his touch, my breath coming in shallow bursts. What I wanted was too embarrassing to give voice to.
“One is enough, right?” he whispered against my ear.
“No,” I hissed.
“Two?”
He added a second finger, stretching me wider and leaving me gasping. My cock hung uselessly between us, arousal smearing over his skin. Pathetically, the small amount of friction had me already feeling like I was going to burst, my muscles drawn tight.
“Please,” I moaned.
“Please, what?” His fingers curled, my inner walls fluttering wildly around them.
“Three.”
“Greedy.”
With an amused chuckle, he added a third. He pumped them in and out slowly, so fucking slowly, I had to grit my teeth to stop myself from cursing out loud. I wasn’t nearly full enough. I didn’t want his fingers at all. I wanted to be fully seated on his dick, to feel him tearing me apart.
“You said you’d be good,” he scolded.
“I am,” I lied.
“Really?” he wondered. “It looks more like you’re begging for my cock.”
He tortured me for several minutes with the idle stretching and stroking, and I wanted so badly to touch myself, though I knew he would punish me for that, too. I prayed for every slide of my cock over his abs and shuddered violently each time it came.
“No more fingers,” I whimpered. “I need you.”
“You already have me,” he teased.
I clenched around his fingers as they withdrew with a soft squelch, desperate to keep them inside, even as I asked for something more. The tip of his cock replaced them, nudging insistently against my thoroughly stretched hole and making me gasp.
I felt the rumbling in his chest—a guttural groan while I sank onto his cock inch by inch, until I was truly full and burning up from the inside. No matter how many times we did this, it wasn’t enough to make up for all the time we’d wasted being anything but one.
He didn’t move at all after he bottomed out.
I squirmed in his lap, earning myself a reprimanding squeeze to my ass that left behind sticky residue in the outline of his fingers.
Minutes seemed to pass sitting just like that, and when I lifted my head from the comfort of his neck and shoulder, I saw he’d gone straight back to business—phone in one hand.
“Better?” he asked, gaze fixed on the article on his phone.
“No,” I grumbled.
“Guess you’ll just have to lie all by yourself, then.”
He shifted, threatening to pull out and leave me empty. I wrapped my arms around his waist, my thighs clenching against his hips to keep myself seated.
“That’s what I thought.”
I burned with indignation from my neck to the tips of my ears.
Every once in a while, his cock would soften, and I’d move again until it stirred back to life inside me. I kept my head tucked under his chin, my ear against his chest, listening to the steady drum of his heart.
With his free hand, he dragged his nails along my spine. I melted into him completely, my lids growing heavy with every lazy stroke. I wanted to complain, to tell him to stop what he was doing and fuck me properly.
But I liked this, too.
I liked having him inside me, pulsing with every twitch of muscle.
Even the weight of his arm resting on my shoulder as he scrolled through articles seemed to ground me, and I didn’t know what to do with it.
We’d never been this soft with each other.
Without the biting words, I was vulnerable and exposed.
“Good boy,” he muttered.
“Fuck you.”
Maybe the bite was still there.