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“Put it in my mouth,” I beg.
“Where do you want me?” he pauses to ask.
I can’t have him pausing. I can’t have any hesitation. I need him to break through the overwhelm, and I can’t give him step-by-step instructions on how to do it—he just needs to do it. If he’s the one for me, he’ll figure it out, right?
Fuck… I can’t breathe.
I drag his mouth back to mine, a hand on the back of his neck forcing the issue. We’re on the bed now, and he’s on top of me, and I’m furiously making out with him, my hands grasping his ass, my hips arching to grind my cock against his—try to get him harder, but I can’t tell if it’s working.
“Stop, babe. Stop,” he whispers against my mouth.
I freeze everywhere. The only thing moving is my pounding dick. He takes both my hands and presses them to the bed. “I said I’ve got you. Be still and let me take care of you.”
The demand in his tone hits the exact right note inside me—even causing my most frantic thoughts to do as he says—be still.
He kisses my chest, lifting his gaze to meet mine. “You need to come?”
“Yes.”
“You think I can make you come?”
“Yeah.” I’m fucking panting. I don’t think it’ll take much. He sits back and undoes his jeans, reaching in to pull his long, not-hard-enough cock out and give it a few strokes.
“Give me a minute, I had a lot of wine,” he says.
Wine. Right. It’s not me. It’s not me.
“Let me suck it for you, baby.” I’m not sure I have a minute. Something bad could happen. Something worse.
I was supposed to be celebrating.
“You wanna suck this cock?” he asks, still working on it.
If talking dirty helps get us there faster, I’m in. “Yeah. I want that fat cock in my mouth. I want to get it so fucking hard.”
“You’re not gonna try to make me come in your mouth, are you?”
“No,” I swear.
“No. Because you want me to fuck you, don’t you?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes, I want that. I need you inside me so fucking bad. I miss you.”
He groans, throwing his head back and giving me a gorgeous view of his neck, a mess of hickeys and bruises in various stages of healing, and I’m not the one who needs to be turned on more here. My chest is tight, and my fingertips feel numb. “Olivier, if you can’t do it?—”
“Drew,” he snaps, loudly. “Shut the fuck up.”
He lets go of his cock, and it’s erect. He gives me an annoyed look and moves toward his nightstand. My panic recedes slightly. I watch as he shoves off his jeans and strips off his shirt. I keep staring at him as he lubes up his dick and squirts some more on his fingers for me.
“You gonna spread your legs for me?” he asks, eyeing my position on the bed.
Anything he wants. “Anything.”
“Oh, I get an option?”
“Whatever you want,” I say.
He takes less than a second to think about it. “I want your feet on the floor. I want you bent over the bed.”
