So I do.
This time, his hand stays in my hair.
This time, he guides me.
His fingers tighten when my mouth closes around his cock again, not forcing, not pushing, just there. A rough anchor. A reminder that he is letting me have this, but he is still Shadow. Still control and restraint and danger under my hands.
He is hot and hard on my tongue, heavy in a way that makes my pulse trip.
I move slowly at first, learning him. Learning the stretch of my lips around him, the taste of salt and skin, the way his stomach tightens when I take him deeper.
His breath leaves him in a rough sound.
“That’s it,” he rasps. “Easy, love.”
Easy.
Nothing about this feels easy.
It feels wicked.
Powerful.
Like I’ve found a crack in the armor of a man who looked untouchable, and all I had to do was put my mouth on him.
I pull back, then take him again, braver this time. My tongue drags along the underside of him, and his hand flexes in my hair.
“Fuck.”
The word is low. Broken at the edges.
I like it too much.
I do it again.
His hips jerk once, then stop hard.
I look up.
His jaw is clenched. His eyes are on me, black in the red motel light, and the sight of him watching me while I learn how to undo him makes heat bloom low in my stomach.
“Don’t look at me like that unless you mean it,” he says.
I let my mouth slide lower.
His head tips back for half a second.
That feels like victory.
His fingers tighten again. “Breathe through your nose.”
My cheeks burn.
I should be mortified.
I am not.
I do what he says. Breathe. Take him deeper. Let my tongue move the way he showed me without words, following every rough inhale, every twitch of his fingers, every curse he tries to swallow.
