My fingers dug into his thighs, holding on, submitting, my eyes flicking up to meet his. Power rolled off him in waves—shoulders tight, chest heaving, sweat gleaming along the hollow of his collarbones. The silver watch glinted at his wrist, a flash of light against the dark of his skin.
“God, you look perfect like this,” Amir rasped, using my hair as a handle, dragging my mouth up and down his shaft, groaning every time my throat fluttered around him. “So pretty with your lips stretched, cheeks wet, tongue begging for more.”
My whole world narrowed to the rhythm of his hips, the ache in my jaw, the mess on my chin and his cock. He leaned over me, spit dripping from his mouth to mine, his grip possessive, claiming, adoring and cruel all at once.
“Gonna ruin you,” he promised, cock twitching against my tongue. “Want you fucked out, voice gone, knees bruised from worshipping me. That what you want, prince?”
A guttural moan was all I could manage, my answer given in the way I pressed my face closer, swallowing him down again, chasing the heat, the filth, the humiliation and the praise. My chest tightened, air burning, eyes wet. His cock throbbed with every pulse of my tongue, every desperate gasp I gave.
Amir never lost control, always holding the pace just at the edge—fast enough to leave me dizzy and raw, slow enough to make me feel every inch, every vein, every shudder in his body. The slap of his hipsagainst my face, the drag of his cock on my lips, the slick sound of spit and precome and tears—all of it built to a fever, held on a razor’s edge.
“Stay right there,” Amir commanded, hand tightening as his cock fucked deep, filling me again and again, voice breaking on a groan. “Don’t you dare move. Let me use this mouth. Let me watch you choke on it, love every fucking second.”
My body obeyed, locked in worship and submission, mouth stretched wide, tongue working, throat open. His words echoed in my bones, filthy and holy, every command another jolt of electricity that made my cock pulse, untouched and desperate, a fresh dribble marking my thigh.
The need—raw, endless, sharp as a blade—hung between us, keeping us both on the edge, not letting either of us fall. Amir’s rhythm slowed, hips grinding in, his hand loosening just enough for me to breathe, then tightening again, setting a cruel, perfect rhythm.
A sudden pull at my hair snapped me out of trance, my mouth wrenched free, spit connecting us in thick strands. My head tipped back, throat bared, gasping for air as Amir bent low, eyes burning, lips twisted in a hungry, wild grin. “Up,” he growled, the word hitting like a whip. “On your feet. Wall.”
Rough hands hauled me upright, dragging me to the nearest blank expanse of cold tile. My back hit the wall with a thud, the shock of it racing up my spine, making my heart stutter in my chest. Amir pressed close, heat and strength radiating off him, chest pinning me so tight I could hardly breathe.
His mouth crashed down on mine, brutal and claiming, all spit and teeth, hunger and salt. I bit his lip, tongue pushing inside, drinking him down, every groan and gasp echoing through my body. The taste of his mouth was pure fire—cologne and sweat, the tang of spit and something uniquely him, the aftertaste of everything filthy we’d just done.
My hands roamed wild, greedy, up over his ribs and shoulders, mapping hard muscle and slick skin, nails dragging through the line of hair down his chest, catching on the silver chain at his throat. Mytongue licked a path down his jaw, chasing the stubble and salt, savoring the sting of it on my swollen lips.
Lips wandered lower, tongue darting across the arch of his collarbone, then burying in the dark hollow of his armpit—hot, wet, musky, thick with the scent of sex and stress and man. My lungs filled with him, breathing in the pure proof of how alive he was, how close, how desperately I needed every inch.
“God, you smell fucking incredible,” I panted, lips slick, mouth greedy as I licked the sweat from his skin, tongue swirling, teeth grazing until Amir shuddered and snarled, grinding harder against me.
A thigh wedged between my legs, spreading me wide, pinning me tighter. His cock slapped against my own, both of us hot, swollen, leaking, the friction electric. Amir’s hand wrapped around both shafts at once, squeezing, grinding, the slide of skin on skin making me gasp and twitch.
The rhythm started slow—long, rolling strokes, his palm trapping us together, heat building between our bodies, sweat slicking our bellies. Every time his wrist rolled up, the silver of his watch flashed at the edge of my vision, a hypnotic stutter that matched the pounding of my pulse.
“Feel that?” Amir whispered, mouth pressed to my ear, voice rough and wrecked. “You’re burning for me. All of you. I want to fuck you against this wall, want to ruin you, and make you scream my name.”
A guttural noise tore out of me, hips rolling, chasing every slippery drag of his fist, every jolt of friction. My cock throbbed against his, the difference in girth making each grind more obscene, every vein and ridge pronounced and wet. His other hand slid up to my throat, fingers curling possessive and gentle around my neck, squeezing just enough to make me gasp, to remind me who held all the power.
My mouth never stopped moving—licking up sweat, nipping at the slope of his bicep, teeth grazing the thatch of hair at his underarm. The scent there was dizzying, the salt and heat and darkness of it filling my head with need. I moaned into his skin, open-mouthed and shameless, chasing the taste like it could save me.
Amir’s hips rocked, dragging his cock up and down mine, smearing slick all over my belly. The pressure of his fist, the heat of his body, the thump of his heart against my chest—every sensation threatened to tip me over, to break the tension between us, to send us both over the edge.
But neither of us gave in. The friction slowed, his grip tightening, the need in his eyes sharpening into something feral and sweet. “Not yet,” Amir breathed, pressing his lips to my temple, then down to my throat, biting and sucking, marking me with every kiss. “I want you desperate. I want you hungry. I want you to remember this for days.”
His mouth found mine again, tongue sliding in, drinking down my moans, swallowing every plea and prayer. My hands tangled in his hair, yanking him closer, trying to merge us into one bruised, shaking body.
The room spun, the world narrowed to touch and taste and the slow, torturous grind of two cocks, two bodies, one rhythm. We stayed like that, pinned to the wall, sweat and spit and worship and need—nothing held back, nothing hidden, nothing left but the sacred ache to be known.
A sudden shift in Amir’s grip, and my world spun. My chest pressed flush to cold tile, hands braced wide, legs kicked apart by his knee until I stood open, vulnerable, back arched, muscles shaking with the effort to stay upright. The cool air hit my slick skin, heightening every bruise and pulse of heat.
Amir’s hand skimmed down my spine, claiming every vertebrae, nails biting a line that sent sparks flying through my nerves. His palm flattened on the small of my back, a silent order, a promise that I was going nowhere. A deep, satisfied rumble vibrated from his chest—too low for words, pure hunger, all power.
“Stay just like that,” he growled, breath hot against my ear. “Let me see you. Let me see what’s mine.” His thumbs pried my cheeks apart, spreading me wide, exposing everything, making me shudder with shame and anticipation. “Fuck, Sebastian. Look at you. Every inch begging for me to claim. You need to be filled, don’t you? Need to be ruined so deep you’ll never forget.”
A filthy whimper escaped my lips—helpless, eager. I pressed back, pushing myself into his hands, aching for that first invasion, for the pain and the promise. “Want it,” I gasped, voice cracking on the word. “Need you, Amir. Need you to fuck me.”
His laugh was rough, mean and sweet. The sound of a bottle snapping open, the squirt of thick lube drizzling down my crack, pooling at my entrance, sent a violent shiver through my body. Cold at first, then the pressure of his fingers—two, then three—working it in, slicking me up, twisting, stretching, prepping me not with patience but with ownership. Every pass was a promise: you’re going to take every inch.
Amir’s mouth pressed to the nape of my neck, hot breath washing over my skin as he worked me open, finger-fucking me deep and relentless. His other hand never left my hip, holding me steady, making sure I couldn’t squirm away from the stretch, the ache, the humiliation of being prepared like something to be devoured.
