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“Yes,” he hisses out, groaning when I snag his earlobe between my teeth.
“Yes what?”
Five seconds pass. “Yes, please?”
“So polite,” I say, dragging my tongue over the pulse point at his neck before I sit back, my weight on his thighs. Kipp’s gaze meets mine when I let his chin go. I grab his cock, stroking with one hand as I roll my palm over his crown. The muscles in his abdomen quiver, evidence of his battle to keep still. He manages a pretty decent job of it, too, fighting off his impulses for a good minute or two. But as soon as I tighten my grip with the intention of getting him off, he chases the pressure. I release him.
“Fuuuck,” he says, covering his face with his hands.
“You can do this, sweetheart,” I say gently, giving him a slow stroke. “Just let me take care of you.”
His eyes meet mine again, uncertainty there but also a steely sort of determination. Kipp is a pleaser; it’s something I’ve noticed in his interactions. He’s charming and forthcoming, and I’d bet my life savings that he often leads his sexual encounters as a way to make sure his partners are getting what they want. Yet now, I’m asking him to hand that power off to me. He wants to—craves it—I can tell. But he’s scared.
He doesn’t need to be.
“Let me be the one to take care of you,” I repeat.
His swallow is heavy, but he lays his arms above his head, his own attempt to release control, at least physically. That’s good. The mental will follow if he allows it. His hands flex a few times before he closes his eyes, letting out a breath.
My chest swells with pride.
“There you go,” I say softly. “Beautiful.”
His mouth opens, a sigh leaving his lips. I pick up my pace again, stroking him, spitting on his cock—once, twice—before jerking him harder. He moans, thrusting up, and I stop, waiting a beat as he settles. I start again, my fist gliding smoothly over his flesh. His breathy little moans have my heart trying to claw its way out of my throat, but I lock myself down tight, sliding my free hand under Kipp’s shirt, finding his nipple and flicking it with my thumb. His back bows, hips moving. I stop.
“Fuck,” he groans, a blush over his cheeks and neck. “Teddy, please.”
“What’s your job?” I ask.
“Lie here,” he says around a panting breath, “and be good.”
“That’s right,” I reply, easing my hand out of his shirt and running my fingers through his hair. He leans into the touch. “You don’t have to think, Kipp. You don’t have to do. Trust me to get you there.”
He nods, tongue sliding over his bottom lip. “Okay.”
I lean forward again, turning Kipp’s face so I can bring my lips to his jaw. I feather kisses along the sensitive curve of his neck as I resume stroking him, slowly at first, and then a little faster. His breathing picks up, pulse skittering against my lips.
“Look at you,” I breathe into his skin, wanting to imprint my words there. “You’re gorgeous, Kipling.”
He stutters out a breath, chest brushing mine before it falls. I can feel the exact moment he truly lets go. When his body melts and he gives himself over. His neck muscles relax, his head sinks against the cushions, and every line in his body goes from tensed to lax, like a marionette that’s had its strings cut. It’s a beautiful thing, and I mutter my praise against his skin as I jack him off in earnest.
He lets out a few quiet sounds, his body starting to tremble beneath me. There’s, “Oh, oh,” and then, “Teddy.” I stroke him quickly, and when Kipp’s cock starts to swell in my fist, the man himself remaining at my mercy, I press my lips near his ear.
“Good boy. You can come now.”
The sound he lets out is surprised, tortured, and he spills between our bodies in an instant. His moans float into my ears like the sweetest melody, and I close my eyes, tucking my face against his neck as I work him through his release, my entire being singing in tune to this man who has me wrapped around his pinkie finger, whether or not he knows it.
I thought I could keep my distance. I thought, maybe, we wouldn’t end up here.
I thought wrong.
As Kipp’s moans change in pitch, I gentle my ministrations, holding his cock in a loose grip. I squeeze once before letting go.
“Fuck,” he mutters between panting breaths.
I ease back, watching Kipp’s face, registering the still hazy expression in his gaze. He’s not questioning it. Yet. But it will come.
“Here,” I say, using the hem of my shirt to give him a perfunctory wipe. I grab his next, rolling it carefully upwards to keep his cum contained. Kipp lets me, watching with blissful blue eyes as I tug the garment over his head and off his arms. I do the same with my own. “Stay here a second?”
