“I’ve never…”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I know that too.”
“And you’re...” Cass glanced down again as he swallowed loudly. “I don’t think all of that is going to fit.”
The laugh that escaped Riot was half-feral, surprised out of him. “It doesn’t have to. Just whatever you want to try. Whatever feels right. And you stop whenever…”
But Cass was already sliding down from his lap, settling between Riot’s thighs with the focused determination of someone approaching a task they’d decided to master, and the sight of him there—still flushed, still tear-streaked, wearing nothing but smears of his own cum…
Breathe. Just breathe. Let him lead.
Cass leaned forward, his breath warm against the head, then his tongue darted out in a careful, experimental touch that was barely contact and Riot’s entire body went rigid.
“Like that?” Cass looked up through wet lashes.
“Yes.“ The word came out as a hiss.
Emboldened, Cass tried again. His tongue traced the shape of him, the ridge, the slit where precum was already beading, the thick vein underneath that had made Riot’s hips jerk earlier. It was, without exaggeration, the most devastating thing anyone had ever done to him.
“It tastes like your scent,” Cass murmured, and the vibration of speech against sensitive skin made Riot’s hand fist in his own hair just to have something to grip that wasn’t Cass. “But saltier.”
I’m going to die. I’m going to die on this floor from a twenty-four-year-old virgin analyzing the flavor profile of my dick. What a way to go.
Then Cass’s lips parted, and he took the head into his mouth, and Riot stopped finding anything funny.
Wet. Hot. Tight.Cass’s mouth was too small with not enough experience to relax his jaw, and the pressure was intense, almost painful with the scrape of teeth, and absolutely perfect. Histongue was clumsy, uncertain, trying things and adjusting based on the sounds Riot made, and every tentative shift sent sparks cascading up Riot’s spine.
Don’t thrust. Don’t thrust. Don’t you fucking dare—
His hips jerked anyway and Cass gagged a wet, convulsive sound that sent the Berserker into a frenzy and made Brennan want to pull him off immediately.
Riot froze. “Sorry—fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean—”
But Cass hadn’t pulled back. His eyes were streaming, his throat working, but his hands were planted on Riot’s thighs and he was staying, breathing through his nose. Then he moved deeper on his own, gagging again, softer this time, and the sound he made around Riot’s cock was something between a whimper and a moan that vibrated through Riot’s entire existence.
“Stop.“ The word ripped out of Riot. Not because he wanted to stop, but because Cass’s eyes had gone glassy and unfocused and if Riot didn’t pull back now he was going to either suffocate him with his cock or be the reason for an emergency tonsillectomy.
Cass came away gasping. His face was all tears and spit and precum smeared across his lip and chin, his expression dazed and searching. He looked used and he’d barely had half of Riot in his mouth.
“Did I do it wrong?”
“You did it too right.“ Riot was breathing like he’d been running. His cock kept throbbing, slick with Cass’s spit, and the gold was so bright it was turning the dim entryway into something that looked like noon. “Another thirty seconds and I would have…I couldn’t have—”
Understanding crossed Cass’s face. Not fear.Recognition.“You stopped.”
“I stopped.”
“Again.”
Something passed between them. Not absolution. Riot didn’t deserve that and Cass wasn’t stupid enough to offer it. But acknowledgement. Evidence that the pattern was changing, even if the danger wasn’t.
Cass wiped his chin with the back of his hand. Then, watching Riot’s face, he licked the wetness off his fingers.
“I liked it,” he said simply. “The taste. The way your body moved. The sounds you made.” A flush crept up his throat, but his eyes stayed steady. “I want to try again. Later. When you teach me more.”
