"Such a gorgeous little slut. Would you like to suck my dick before I come inside you?"
"Yes, please." She nods.
I throw myself on my back next to her. "You can let go now. But no using your hands, just use your mouth."
She moves to kneel between my legs. "You want me to suck your monster cock without using my hands?"
She stares at my dick then at my face. "I’m not sure that’s possible."
I fold my arm behind my neck.
"Giving up so quickly?"
She tosses her head. A stubborn expression filters into her features. "Challenge accepted."
"We'll see how long that confidence lasts." I settle deeper into the pillows, sprawling like I own the world. Like I'm not already half-destroyed just from looking at her.
"Clock's ticking."
She scowls, then lowers her head.
The first touch of her tongue breaks something in me. Something deeper. Something that feels like she’s lashing at the last barrier I hold for my need to have control. I lock every muscle. Force myself not to move. Not to reach for her. Not to take over like I do with everything else in my life.
This is a test for both of us. She has to figure out how to please me without using her hands. I have to let her try without controlling the outcome.
She braces on her forearms, arches her back, and uses her whole body to find the angle. The position puts everything on display—the curve of her ass, the sway of her breasts, the way her mouth stretches obscenely around my length.
It's the most erotic thing I've ever seen.
It's also the most vulnerable I've felt in my adult life.
"Look at the mess you’re making." My voice cracks.
Saliva glistens on her chin. Her eyes water from the effort of taking me without anything to hold onto.
She's exquisite, it hurts to look at her. She looks like something Idon't deserve. Like something I'll ruin if I'm not careful. Like the first thing I've ever wanted to protect as much as I want to possess.
"Use your tongue." The instruction comes out ragged. "Flatten it. Let me—Christ, yes. Just like that."
She adjusts. Testing. Learning my body the way she learns a new technique in the kitchen. Methodical, determined, refusing to quit until she's mastered it.
She’s proving again that she’s my most diligent student.
Only difference? In the kitchen, I can watch her work and maintain my distance. Keep the walls up. Keep the Ice Commander persona intact, because that's what keeps me safe. Keeps everyone safe.
Here, in our bed?
Watching her struggle to take me deeper, seeing her glance up for approval, like my opinion is the only one that matters, feeling her hum with pride when I groan, turns my reality upside down.
I'm not the Ice Commander.
I'm not the decorated Royal Marine who learned to bury his feelings under tactical precision and emotional lockdown.
I'm just James. The boy whose biological parents didn’t want him. The man who's spent thirty years rejecting any form of entanglements. To the one who’s found acceptance.
And she's looking at me like I already have hers.
"Deeper, baby." I force the words out through a throat that seems to be lined with broken glass. "You can take more. I know you can."
