10. Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Micah
“Yes,” Lennox says. “Okay.”
He blinks as if surprised by his own words. Then his eyes light up as he realizes what he’s just agreed to.
I don’t think he regrets his decision, and I’m going to make very sure it stays that way. I’m going to rock his world and blow his mind, and it’s going to be delicious. He’s going to crave me every bit as much as I’ve been craving him.
I take him by the hand and lead him to the bedroom. He follows obediently.
The curtains are open in the bedroom, and the city lights spilling in are creating the perfect mood lighting.
I lead Lennox to the bed. A gentle push on his broad shoulders gives him the right idea, and he sits on the edge of the mattress.
I sway backwards a few steps. Bite my bottom lip and look up at him coyly. My fingers run along the hem of my oversized sweatshirt.
His eyebrows shoot up as comprehension dawns. He runs the tip of his tongue over his lips.
That’s right, Detective Inspector Lennox, tonight you are getting your very own striptease.
I hook a finger into the hem of my sweatshirt and hold it there, waiting for his eyes to drop the way every man’s eyes drop.
They don’t.
Lennox is looking at my face. Just my face, steady, as if there’s something there worth more of his attention than what I’m about to show him. It throws me off my rhythm for a second, and I have to remember what I’m doing with my hands.
I drag the fabric up an inch anyway, slow, and his eyes stay exactly where they are.
“You’re not even looking,” I say, half a laugh in it, half something else I don’t have a name for yet.
“I’m looking right at you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.” His voice is rough, but his gaze doesn’t move an inch. “I’d rather watch your face.”
I don’t know what to do with that. Nobody has ever wanted my face more than the rest of it, not once, not in a room like this one.
And I pull the sweatshirt the rest of the way off, mostly to give myself something to do that isn’t standing here feeling unexpectedly undone by a man who hasn’t even touched me yet.
I toss it aside. His eyes are back on mine before the fabric hits the floor.
I hook my thumbs into my waistband, buying myself a second, and search his face for the thing I’m used to finding in men at this exact moment, the hunger that only sees skin.
It isn’t there. What’s there instead is something quieter, something that looks almost like wonder, and it undoes me far more than any amount of staring at my body ever could.
“You’re doing it again,” I say, voice not as steady as I want it.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like I’m a person.”
Something moves behind his eyes, gentle and a little sad. “You are one.”
I ease my joggers down, slow, and he doesn’t glance away once, not even when the fabric pools at my feet and I’m standing there with nothing left between us but distance. He just keeps looking at my face like it’s the only part of me he actually came here for.
I close the space between us anyway. Because apparently that’s what he does to me now. Makes me want to give him the parts of myself I’ve never once thought to offer anyone.
“No touching,” I say, though my heart isn’t really in the order.
“I know.”
I lean down, close enough to feel him breathing, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m not performing at all.
I was going to do a lap dance. Very raunchy. The whole works. But now I’m not feeling it. I’m feeling something else entirely.
But I’m naked and poised over him, and I’m feeling lost.
A slightly crazy sounding laugh bubbles out of me. “Okay, I’ve changed my mind. You can touch me.”
His eyes darken, but he doesn’t grab me. He just keeps staring into my eyes as if I’m the most interesting thing in the room. Me, Micah, not the body I’m offering him.
His hands finally move, sliding up my thighs slowly, as if he’s asking permission with his palms rather than his words, and I feel my whole body answer before I’ve decided to let it.
“Lennox.”
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly, and pulls me down onto his lap instead of pulling me toward the mattress, like he wants me close before he wants anything else.
I straddle him, my hands finding his shoulders, and for a second neither of us moves, just breathing the same air, his eyes still fixed on my face like he’s committing it to memory.
I lean in and kiss him, slow, and he makes a low sound against my mouth that undoes something in my chest I didn’t know was still tied shut.
His hands slide up my back, still careful, like I’m something he’s afraid of handling wrong, and I press closer, wanting more of that carefulness, wanting to drown in it after a lifetime of men who never once bothered with it.
“Off,” I murmur against his mouth, tugging at his shirt.
He laughs, breathless, and helps me with the buttons, his hands not quite steady, and when the shirt finally comes off I get to feast on the sight of him, solid and a little soft in the way real men are instead of the men on magazine covers, and I decide instantly that I really do like it more than any of those men, and seeing him undressed is even better the second time and I suspect it’s only going to get better and better every time.
“Bed,” he says, voice wrecked already.
I let him lay me back against the pillows, and the city lights keep spilling gold across the ceiling, and his mouth finds my throat, and I stop thinking about performance or angles or any of the things I usually think about in a moment like this one, because none of it applies anymore, not with him.
“Micah,” he says against my skin, like my name is the only word he has left.
“I’m here.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m trying to believe it.”
I pull him closer, and the city goes on glittering outside the window, indifferent to both of us, and for once that feels like exactly the right amount of witness.
“Roll over,” he says as he grabs two of the pillows.
My body complies before my mind has registered what is happening.
He gently encourages me to lift my hips. He slides the pillows under them. He settles behind me, between my spread legs.
“I’m going to eat your ass until you scream my name,” he says. “Is that okay?”
“Very!” I squeak.
Lennox chuckles. The sound rolls through me, sending butterflies fluttering in my tummy. A far more dizzying sensation than the spike of arousal and anticipation at the thought of having my ass eaten.
Strong, firm hands pull my ass cheeks apart. Soft wetness laps over my hole, sending sparks of pleasure zapping through my veins and muscles until it reaches every part of me. He is licking my hole, but I’m feeling the pleasure of it everywhere.
His tongue swirls around and around. My hands clench the sheets, forming tight fists.
Lennox’s tongue works and works. Around and around. Over and over. Around in the other direction. Each and every caress of his tongue, hot, soft, and wet.
Between licks, his breath is warm and fast. Little happy grunts and groans are spilling out of him. Murmurs of fervent appreciation.
Fucking hell.
I can count the number of times I’ve had my ass eaten on one hand. Most men I’ve known are far more concerned with their own pleasure, and they don’t seem to find eating ass a pleasure for them.
Judging by the sounds Lennox is making, he is really enjoying this. Perhaps even as much as I am. And even if he wasn’t, I think he’d still do this. Still take pride in it. He is a generous lover. He takes as much satisfaction in giving pleasure as he does in receiving it. Maybe even more so.
His tongue pushes harder against my rim. Digging in deeper. My muscles flutter, soften. Give way. Lennox groans as he pushes his tongue inside me.
Holy fuck.
My lungs are heaving. My cock is hard and leaking against the pillows. Lennox burrows his face even closer, shoving his tongue even deeper. I yell and hold on to the sheets as if they can save me.
He starts fucking me with his tongue. Stiffen the muscle into the shape of something long and thin. Making fast movements in and out, rubbing over my rim with delicious speed. A tease of fullness, a hint of stretch. Friction and pressure and glory.
An orgasm slams into me. I’m bucking and writhing, undulating and keening. My cock hasn’t been touched and I’m seeing stars.
“Lennox!” I wail high and long.
Calling out his name, because it seems only fair to give him what he wanted, and because I want it too. I want him to know exactly what he is doing to me, and that no one else has ever made me cum so hard.
The world spins. My lungs work like bellows. Muscles twitch. Aftershocks zing. I’ve soaked the pillows with my cum and I don’t even care.
“Can I give you my cock now?” Lennox rumbles.
Colors swirl behind my eyelids. Blood tries to reach my spent cock.
“Please!” I rasp.
Oh shit, my throat is ruined. He made me scream that hard.
He chuckles warmly. I don’t know if it was the begging or the hoarseness that pleased him, maybe both. Either way, I’m proud to have pleased him.
My muscles have turned to jelly. I’m panting. All I can do is lie here sprawled on the bed, in a puddle of my own cum, listening to Lennox move around the room.
I don’t think he minds.
I hear the tear of a condom wrapper. Then a squelch of lube. Followed by footsteps moving back towards me.
A large hand rests on my hip. The blunt head of a cock notches against my hole. Habit makes me want to brace for a moment, then I remember it’s Lennox.
“Okay?”
“Okay!”
Pressure. Slow and gentle. Steady and patient. Easing himself into me while allowing my body to spread and open and make way for him.
The stretch still comes. The burn still stings. But it’s oh so good.
The fullness grows and grows. The heaviness takes root. He slides deeper and deeper. Taking me inch by slow inch.
It’s bliss. Euphoria and ecstasy. Rapture and satisfaction. It’s also surprisingly, safety and warmth. This feels right. Giving myself to Lennox feels good. I trust him to take good care of me.
He groans. He is flush against my ass cheeks. All the way inside me. Every glorious inch buried in my ass and rearranging my guts.
He moves, a slow thrust that still pushes a grunt out of me. He shifts the angle and rocks against me again.
Oh lord I hope he finds that spot.
I lie pliant as he gives me gentle thrusts, each one slightly different, each one calibrating.
Then I’m gasping and nearly levitating. But there is no time to recover because he starts fucking me properly. Holding the angle he found and railing me ruthlessly. Hitting that spot on the in and dragging over it on the out.
My toes curl. I’m pretty sure I’m drooling. My cock is trying to swell and if I hadn’t just shot my load, I’d be shooting it everywhere. But I did, so I can’t. All I can do is lie here and take the overwhelming pleasure he is fucking into me. Take it and ride and fly high.
I grunt and groan and gasp.
Oh fuck.
Nothing has ever felt this good. I’m right on the edge, but I can’t fall over, so the ecstasy is rolling on and on and on.
“Lennox!” I keen, unintentionally this time, but no regrets.
His hips go all jerky. He swears. Groans. I feel a splash of heat through the condom. He swears again and pulls out.
Did he really not want to cum until I had gone twice? What kind of man is he? An angel, that’s what he must be. No mere mortal man is like this.
Three broad fingers fill my empty hole. I make an unholy noise and buck my hips. He fucks me with his fingers. Hard. Ruthlessly, but still somehow gently. Giving me as much as I need, as much as I can take, but no more.
My spine bows. A silent scream blocks my airway. His fingers keep working and my cock spurts and spurts until my balls are empty.
Oh. My. God.
Who is this man and where has he been all my life?