“Strawberry,” he whispers. And I know I’m fucked.
Elias reaches up, eyes locked on mine, and pushes my towel aside like it’s in his way—like it’s anoffenseto his current mission. It falls open across my hips, warm air hitting my skin, and then his gaze drops to my cock like he’s greeting an old friend he plans todevour.
And then, just to make sure Iknowthis isn’t going to be anything close to holy, the little fuck slicks hisown fingers.
“Planning something, pup?”
He doesn’t answer. Because the next second, his mouth is on me. Hot and slow andperfect—lips stretching around thehead of my cock, tongue dragging with precision that borders on cruel. I groan, spine tensing, hands gripping the arms of the chair like if I don’t anchor myself I mightdrownin it.
He goes deeper. Not fast. Not sloppy. Just slow enough to keep me on the edge of what the fuck is happening, every motion fluid andintentional. He knows my body too well. Knows how I sound when I’m about to snap. Knows how my legs tighten, how my stomach jumps, how my breath shudders through clenched teeth.
And just when I start to forget my own name—his fingers slip between my thighs and I stiffen. Not because it’s unwelcome. But because it’shim.Because he’sstill sucking my cock,slow and deep, like he’s done it a thousand times—and now his fingers are pressing, ghosting, slick and patient and unshaking as they tease lower, waiting.
He doesn’t push further yet. He waits. Just a whisper of pressure. Enough to be unmistakable. Enough to let me stop him, but I don’t. Instead my thighs shift a little wider for him.
He groans around my cock—feelsit—andthatnoise, low and desperate andproud,punches through me like a fucking sledgehammer.
His mouth stays steady, his fingers push deeper. And I still don’t stop him. Because fuck it.
The tip of his finger slips past the rim, slick and careful, and my whole body tenses—because it’snew,not just the sensation but the fact that it’shim.That I’mlettingthis happen. That I’mchoosingit, breathing through it, not fighting the tight coil of discomfort and adrenaline but letting it blur into something hotter, something heavier, something I can’t name.
And then I hear himmoan. Hemoans around my cock, like the feeling of sliding that finger insidememadehimcome undone. Like my body giving him this is the most intimate thing I’veever done. Like this ishispleasure, not mine. Not mine alone, anyway.
His mouth doesn’t stop. Tongue dragging, lips sucking, taking me in deeper as he works that single finger with slow thrusts, curling just slightly like he’s already memorized where I’m sensitive without ever being told.
And it’sgood.
God, it’sso good.The tight stretch, the warm pressure, the impossible rhythm of his mouth and his hand and I can’t fucking breathe, can’t fuckingthink.
My hands twitch against the chair, then rise and I bury my fingers in his curls. Twisting into the wet strands, holding on like they’re the only thing keeping me grounded as my thighs twitch and my mouth falls open on a ragged gasp.
He moans again.Fucking hell.
His finger slides deeper, his mouth gets hungrier and then he finds the spot. Thatfucking spot andit’s a full-body snap of sensation that turns my spine to lightning and rips a sound out of my throat I don’t recognize. My fingers tighten in his hair,hard,knuckles white as I jerk and grind up into his mouth without meaning to.
“Fuck—pup—don’t—don’t you fucking stop—”
Of course he doesn’t. That little shitsmirks around my cock, mouth stretched wide and wet andperfect, like heplannedthis. Like heknewI’d give it up eventually and now he’s collecting his reward like the filthy little altar boy he was never meant to be.
He curls his finger again. Direct hit. My legs snap tight and my vision whites out. I choke on a curse—half praise, half warning—my head dropping back against the chair as every nerve in my body lights up and thenimplodes.
I come harder than I should. Harder than I have inyears. My entire body jerks, cock pulsing deep in his throat, and I feel the exact moment he gags on it.
And then the little fuckergiggles.Gagged and laughing, the sound muffled but sogleefulit hits me harder than the orgasm. He pulls back with a gasp, coughing once, still stroking the base of my cock with his lips parted and eyes shining like he just stole fire from Olympus and plans to fuck it.
“JesusChrist,” I groan, breath ragged, thighs trembling, hand still tangled in his hair like I’m afraid I’ll float off without the anchor.
Elias wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Still hurting?”
I look down at him—chin shiny with spit and come, cheeks flushed, curls wild—and Ishouldbe scolding him. But all I can do is pant, stare, and finally rasp. “Not even a little.”
Heclimbsme. Slow and sure, all warm skin and lean muscle, dragging kisses up my torso like hecan’t not.Like worshipping me is his instinct now. Like heneedsto feel every inch of me before he settles. By the time he’s straddling my lap again, his thighs pressed against my hips, his hands wiped clean on the corner of the towel, I’m already gone.
He leans in and kisses my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. “Missed the taste of you,” he whispers against my cheekbone. “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you come.” Another kiss. “Wanna make you do it again later. On your back. With my name in your throat.”
My breath hitches. My hands curl around his waist, grounding both of us, even though I’m the one who feels like I might float away.
“I love your thighs,” he continues, dragging his mouth along my jaw. “You get all tense when you’re close. It’s hot.” His voice drops even lower. “You moan like ithurtsto feel good.”
