Chapter 19 #2
Not wasting any more time, I hook my fingers into the waistband of his boxers, my eyes meeting his briefly before I tug them down.
I’m practically gulping once his cock springs free, twitching with need as he watches me intently, waiting to see what I’ll do next.
He’s a lot bigger than I expected, hard as a rock, and precum is already pooling at the tip for me.
“Take this off,” I tell him, tugging at his hoodie.
I have to squeeze my thighs together at the mere speed at which he obeys my directions, sitting up straight to pull his hoodie over his head and toss it to the floor. I’d always been the submissive one, but seeing him like this, so willing to listen to me… Fuck.
Perching on my hands and knees, I hover over him, peering up at him through my lashes as I gather saliva in my mouth.
He’s watching me with a heavy-lidded gaze as his chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, looking at me like I’m the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.
My confidence skyrockets, and I flutter my lashes faintly as I let the saliva dribble from my lips, dripping down onto his cock.
He shudders as my spit trails down the length of his dick.
“Come here,” I say, crawling toward the headboard and leaning my back against it before patting the spot between my legs. “Lean on me.”
Tate kicks off his jeans and boxers that are still wrapped around his thighs before scooting back, my eyes catching the ripple of muscles in his biceps as he does.
He very softly leans against my chest, his head resting in the crook of my neck as his hands grip my legs.
God, he listens so well. He’s panting in excitement as I wrap one arm around his broad chest and the other around his waist, grasping his cock in my hand as I start to stroke, coating him fully in my saliva.
He moans, his hips stuttering with my movements.
“I don’t know how long I’ll last,” he whines.
Fuck, that’s hot.
Pressing my lips to his ear, I murmur, “That’s okay. Tell me when you’re close.”
“Okay,” he breathes.
I stroke him steadily now, pumping up and down and up and down, as I run my other hand across his chest, squeezing and feeling every dip and crevice of his muscles. His fingers grip me so tight, I might bruise, and the thought makes me clench around nothing.
Fuck, he’s so incredibly hot like this. At my mercy. In my arms, my hands, writhing at every flick of my wrist as I pump his cock.
“You’re doing so good, Tate,” I rasp into his cheek, dropping his cock for a moment as I bring my hand up to my mouth for more spit.
I can feel his moan reverberate through his body at my praise, and my lips curve in the corners.
Noted.
He practically chokes on a breath as I circle my fingers around his cock again, pumping him slowly as I press my lips to his ear once more. “Did you like that?”
Tate hums, but it’s caught in his throat.
“Me telling you how good you’re doing,” I breathe. “You like being told what a good boy you are?”
His whimper is strangled as he nods frantically, his hips bucking to meet my strokes now, chasing his release.
“I’m c-close, Maeve. I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” I pant, kissing his ear, then his cheek. “Please, Tate. Be a good boy and come for me.”
The ragged little whimpers that leave his mouth as he reaches his climax are like music to my ears.
I can feel my arousal pooling in my panties as I listen to him whine for me, his cum shooting out over my hand that’s still fisted around his cock and his ridged stomach, which twitches with every jerk.
He paints his chiseled abdomen in ropes of white, and it’s a fucking sight.
I’ve never felt so empowered like this, having someone come undone in my arms, in my hands. Whimpering like that for me. I didn’t realize that was something I liked at all.
I hold him like this for a few minutes, watching as his chest goes from heavy pants to a more shallow, quick movement.
His heart still pounds underneath my palm as he comes down from his orgasm high, and I wonder how he’s feeling.
How all of this was for him. I was the first person to ever give him an orgasm; that’s kind of a huge deal.
“How are you feeling?” I ask gently, finally bringing my head from pressing against his to look down at his face.
“Lucky.” He sighs.
Sweet, sweet boy.
This man is too sweet for his own good.
I laugh softly, removing myself from under his body carefully as he slides further down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling in almost a daze. “Stay here. I’ll clean you up.”
Tiptoeing into the bathroom, I peek over my shoulder to see him still lying there, his hands splayed out next to him. The sight makes me giggle quietly, washing my hands before grabbing the hand towel hanging on the hook next to the sink and wetting it with warm water.
When I return, he’s still laying there, unmoving, just blinking slowly. I don’t think he’s even looking at anything. His eyes are far away, wherever his mind is.
“Here,” I murmur weakly, pressing the warm rag to his chest and sliding it down gently, cleaning him up with slow, methodical movements.
Something has shifted, I can feel it. At least for me, it has.
I can feel my own heart pounding in my chest, and I didn’t even have an orgasm.
His eyes observe me as I wipe him off, but I don’t meet his gaze.
Not yet. I want to soak in this tiny blissful bubble for a few more seconds before I have to come to terms with this being either the worst thing that’s happened to him or the best.
“Maeve,” he says.
I hum.
“What about…you?”
Something about those words sent a jolt of heat straight between my legs.
I stop my movements, peering up at him hesitantly. “What about me?”
His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, his eyes having a hard time meeting my gaze as he says, “Shouldn’t, uh, you get a turn?”
Tossing the wet rag into the dirty clothes hamper, I crawl onto the bed next to him, laying on my stomach as I rest my chin on his damp chest. The movement makes his eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he relaxes.
“I’m okay. This was for you. I want to…go slow. I don’t want to move too fast. I want you to be able to process.”
I want to make sure you don’t regret me.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “You could show me… You know, how to—”
“You know I’m not declining because I think you’d be bad at it, right?” I ask, my brows knitting together as I peer at him from my spot on his chest. “That’s not it at all. I just… I want to make sure you’re okay, Tatum. I want you to feel like you made the right decision tonight.”
His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I don’t think I like it when you call me Tatum. It…makes me feel like you’re m-mad at me.”
I can’t help the tired laugh that bursts from my lips. Swatting at his chest playfully, I sit back up, shimmying out of my sweater and tossing it to the ground.
“Let’s sleep,” I tell him.
Tate gulps as he takes in my bra, his eyes trailing further down my body as I stand up to discard my jeans next.
“Now? T-together?”
He’s quickly sitting up to reach down for his boxers on the floor as I snag his hoodie and slide it on, almost like he’s just now realized that he was still fully naked in my bed. Inhaling the smell of his cologne, I nod at him with a small smile.
“Unless you want to go back to your room—”
“No,” he interrupts swiftly, “I’ll stay.”
My smile deepens at that, and I hop into the bed as I pull back the comforter and bury myself underneath it.
Once he’s done pulling on his boxers, he’s sliding under the blanket with me, his warmth immediately radiating toward me.
He keeps a small gap between us, like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to touch me, and then I realize I should’ve given him some reassurance after what just happened.
Jesus, I suck.
“Tate,” I whisper.
He tilts his head down at me. “Yeah?”
“You gonna stay over there?”
The way his face lights up makes a warmth spread through my chest, too. He doesn’t waste another second before he’s very gently pulling me to his chest, wrapping his arm around me, and pulling the blanket up further until we’re bundled up and cozy.
I fall asleep to the gentle rise and fall of his chest.