14. Leo #2
His lips were on mine again, his cock grinding against my thigh. Clearly he enjoyed that. I couldn’t help wondering when the last time was that someone had treated him like they actually wanted him.
“Can I…” I started. “Can I suck your cock?”
He froze again and let out a shaky breath. “Y-Yeah. If you want to.”
If only he knew how much I loved sucking dick.
I didn’t wait for him to say anything else.
I pressed him back against the mattress with both hands flat on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath my palm, and then I moved down his body in the dark. Slowly. Deliberately. The way he’d touched me, with that focused attention. I wanted him to feel every second of it.
My lips found his collarbone. The center of his chest. The hard plane of his stomach, which contracted sharply under my mouth. His hands came down and found my hair, not guiding, just resting there. Like he needed something to hold on to, and I was the only thing available.
I knew exactly how that felt.
I pressed a kiss just below his navel and felt his whole body go rigid. His fingers tightened in my hair involuntarily and then loosened again, like he was reminding himself to let me do this on my own terms.
“Leo…” His voice was barely a sound. More like breath shaped into my name.
“I’ve got you,” I said against his skin.
I took my time. I kissed the inside of his hip, the crease where his thigh met his body, and felt him tremble.
He was trying very hard not to make noise, which I found endearing and also something of a personal challenge.
I could feel the heat of him before I even touched him, and when I finally wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and just held him, he exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for the last five years.
I licked slowly up the underside of him, base to tip, unhurried, and he made a sound that was absolutely nothing like the flat controlled voice I’d been listening to for the past week. It was raw and startled and low in his throat, and I felt it vibrate through every nerve ending I had.
I did it again.
“Christ,” he breathed.
I smiled against him and then took the head of his cock into my mouth, and that was the end of Alex’s composure entirely.
His hips lifted off the mattress. His hands tightened in my hair and then immediately released, like he was catching himself, trying to let me lead.
I appreciated the effort. I rewarded it by taking him deeper, slowly, working my way down with a patience I didn’t entirely feel because the sounds he was making were doing things to me that I had no business feeling this strongly.
He was thick and warm and entirely real in my mouth, and there was something almost overwhelming about that.
About the fact that it was Alex. That the hands in my hair belonged to him, that the voice coming undone above me in the dark was his voice, the same voice that had told me I wasn’t damaged, that I deserved better, that someone should want me so badly the thought of sharing me drove them mad.
I worked him slowly, thoroughly, the way I did with everything I cared about getting right.
“Leo.” My name again, wrecked and quiet. “I’m not going to last if you keep—”
I pulled off him deliberately and pressed my teeth to the inside of his thigh instead, and he made a sound of profound frustration that I found deeply satisfying.
“I’m serious,” he said.
“I know you are.”
“Leo.”
I moved back to him and took him in my hand, stroking slowly, and pressed my mouth to the jut of his hip.
I could feel him shaking. The great solid mass of him, the broad shoulders and the architectural chest and the jaw that could cut glass.
All of it was shaking because of me, because of my hands and my mouth and the dark that had made this possible when nothing else could have.
“Tell me what you want,” I said, turning his words back on him quietly.
A long pause. The rain against the shutters. His uneven breathing.
“I want to see you,” he said finally. “I want the light.”
I reached up and found the matchbox on the side table. My hands were steadier than I expected. I struck the match and touched it to the candle wick, and the small flame caught and held, throwing its warm unsteady light across the room.
Alex was propped up on his elbows, looking down at me with an expression I had never seen on his face before. His blonde hair was disheveled and his chest was rising and falling too fast and his blue eyes, in the candlelight, were entirely unguarded.
He looked undone. He looked like a man seeing something clearly for the first time after a very long time of not being able to.
He looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
I held his gaze and lowered my mouth back to him, watching his face as I did it, watching his eyes go dark and his jaw drop slightly and his head tip back against the pillow. His hands found my hair again, and this time he let himself hold on.
I took my time with him the way I’d wanted to since the moment I’d watched him in that towel in the morning light, and then spent three days pretending I hadn’t.
I took him apart slowly and carefully and with tremendous attention to detail, until the sounds he was making were entirely beyond his control and his hips were moving in slow involuntary rhythm and his hands were gripping me like I was the only solid thing in the world.
“Leo,” he managed, his voice completely gone. “I’m—”
I didn’t stop.