I tried to swallow it down. I tried to focus on Felix, tried to remember that this wasn’t before, that he wasn’t like the others. But the fear was there, sticky and raw, and I couldn’t make it go away.
He noticed. Of course he did. He always did.
He wrapped a towel around his own waist, then crouched down so he was eye level with me. His hand came up, cupped my jaw, thumb brushing along the edge where he’d just shaved me smooth.
“What’s going on in there, baby?” His voice was soft, careful. Not a hint of impatience.
My mouth went dry. I wanted to look away but he was right there, so close, so steady. I could feel his cock, hard, just under the towel. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to make him proud.
But I didn’t know how to ask.
“I…” My voice cracked. I looked down, heat crawling up my neck. “I want to…I want to make you feel good, but I don’t know if I should ask.”
He was silent for a second, thumb still rubbing gentle circles at my chin. “Why wouldn’t you ask?” I stared at the tile so long my eyes blurred. The words crowded in my throat, all jagged edges and guilt.
“Because…I don’t want to mess it up,” I whispered.
Felix didn’t move, but his thumb pressed under my jaw, steady. “Try again. Tell me what you want, baby.”
My face burned. There was no way to say it without sounding desperate. “I want to take care of you. I want to make you come. I want to make it good for you.” My voice was barely there.
He made a sound, low and hungry, and then his hand slid into my hair. “You don’t ask for too much. You never have. You ask for less than anyone I’ve ever met.”
I blinked fast, but it didn’t stop the sting in my eyes. “I want to show you I can. Please?”
His cock twitched under the towel, and I watched the way he reacted. He wanted this. He really did. My heart pounded.
“Then kneel for me,” Felix said, voice dropping half an octave.
I did. Right there on the towel, knees wide apart, hands behind my back because that’s where they always belonged. I bowed myhead, waiting for him to say I was doing it wrong, but he just stroked my cheek, then untucked the towel.
He was thick and hard, flushed dark at the tip. I wanted him so bad my mouth watered. I didn’t wait for permission; he’d already given it to me. I leaned in, careful, and kissed the head of his cock, then licked a stripe up the underside.
Felix made a sound, not loud, but it clipped the air between us. His hand was back in my hair, not pushing, just guiding, gentle. “Look at you. Perfect, baby.”
The words made me reckless. I took him in my mouth, slowly at first, letting my lips get used to the size, the weight. He tasted so clean, a little salty from precum, and I wanted to drown in it. Every time I swallowed him deeper, he rewarded me—a soft groan, a hand smoothing the back of my neck, low, filthy praise that made my cock ache all over again.
I wanted to be better. I wanted to be the best he’d ever had. I let him slide over my tongue, then hollowed my cheeks a little, just how I’d been taught. Felix shuddered. “Fuck, baby, you’re so good. You were made for this.”
I moaned around his cock, and he lost a little of the careful control, rocking his hips just enough to let me know he needed it. I loved that. I loved knowing I could do that to him.
He didn’t last long. The bath, the touching, all of it must have wound him tight, because after a minute he warned me, voice rough: “Gonna come, baby. Want it?”
I nodded, desperate, and he came with a groan, thick and hot down my throat. I swallowed it all, then sucked him through the aftershocks like I’d never get enough.
Felix let go of my hair and just stroked my cheek. I felt the heat of his palm, gentle and solid, and I leaned into it because I didn’t know how not to. My mouth was still full of the taste of him, and I wanted to stay there forever, kneeling at his feet, just…wanted.
He wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb, eyes locked on mine. I didn’t dare look away. I didn’t want to.
“Good boy,” he said quietly, and my whole body went liquid. He didn’t even have to say anything else. That one line was enough.
He touched my jaw again, and I felt the scrape where he’d just shaved me, the skin warm and a little raw, but I liked it. I liked that he’d wanted me smooth. I liked that he’d wanted to do it himself. I wanted to ask if I’d done it right, but I didn’t have the words; I just hovered there, waiting for his verdict.
“You did perfect,” he murmured, thumb still stroking. “You always do. Come here.”
He pulled me up, slowly, careful not to make me dizzy, and wrapped the towel around my shoulders again. He tucked me into his side like I was supposed to go there, like maybe I belonged, and I was so happy I could’ve cried.
He steered me back to the bedroom, not saying much, just holding me close. I sagged against him, too tired and too loose to stand on my own, but it didn’t matter. He had me. He always did.
