I needed to behere. In this room. In this bed. In my body instead of in my head.
I slid down the bed slow enough not to wake him, pushing the sheet off as I went, until my face was level with his hips.
He slept in nothing. Always did when we shared a bed, which was every night now. His cock lay soft against his thigh, and even at rest it was enough to make my mouth water.
I pressed my lips to his hip bone. Feather-light. He didn't stir.
I kissed lower. The crease where hip met thigh. The soft skin just above the base of him. Breathed warm against him and watched his cock twitch—once, then again—already responding before he had any say in the matter.
I wrapped my hand around him, loose and gentle, and felt him thicken in my grip. A slow, involuntary swelling that had heat pooling between my own legs. I stroked once. Twice. Watched him grow hard in my hand, his body waking up before his brain did.
Then I lowered my mouth and took the head of his cock past my lips.
The taste of him—clean skin and salt and something underneath that was just Brody—hit my tongue and I felt the noise in my head go quiet. Just like that. Like someone had turned the volume down with a quick, single twist of a dial.
I took him deeper, letting my mouth adjust around the thickness of him. I'd had him in my mouth before—that first night, sloppy and drunk and frantic—but I'd never done it like this. Unhurried. Savoring. Learning the weight of him on my tongue, the way the vein on the underside pulsed when I dragged the flat of my tongue along it.
His hips shifted. A soft sound from above me—somewhere between a sigh and a groan, the kind of sound a man made when pleasure found him before consciousness did.
I hollowed my cheeks and sucked, sliding down until my nose brushed the coarse hair at his base, throat opening around him. My eyes watered. I held there, breathing through it, feeling him throb against the back of my throat.
His hand found my hair. Not guiding—just there, fingers threading through the strands, tightening as his senses came online.
"Calvin." My name was gravel and sleep and the beginning of something wild. "What are you—" He broke off on a groan when I pulled back to the tip and swirled my tongue around the head, dipping into the slit where he was already leaking. "Fuck. Okay."
I pulled off long enough to say, "Go back to sleep."
"Yeah, that ain't happenin'." His hips rolled up, and I took him deep again. The broken sound he made vibrated through my chest.
I set a rhythm. Slow and deliberate, the way I did everything that mattered. One hand wrapped around the base, working what my mouth couldn't reach. The other pressed flat against his stomach, feeling the muscles jump and tighten under my palm with every stroke. I worked him with my tongue on the upstroke, sucked hard on the downstroke, and somewhere in between started moaning around him because the sounds he was making were doing things to me that had no business being this effective.
His hand tightened in my hair. His hips kept moving—shallow, restrained thrusts that told me he was trying not to fuck my face and losing the battle. I grabbed his hip and pulled, giving him permission.
He took it.
His hips snapped up and I took him deep, throat burning, eyes watering, loving every second of it. His cock hitting the back of my throat on every thrust while his hand gripped my hair and his breath came out in ragged bursts.
"Fuck, baby, your mouth—" He was fully awake now. Watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, even in the dark. His hand tightened in my hair and I moaned around him, and that almost did it. "You're gonna make me?—"
He pulled me off him. Gentle but firm, his fist wrapped in my hair, tilting my face up. I looked up at him, lips swollen and wet, and he was staring at me with something so raw it made my stomach flip.
"I don't wanna come in your mouth." His voice was wrecked. "I wanna come in that tight little ass."
A shudder ripped through me that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way his eyes went black when he said it.
He flipped me onto my stomach so fast I gasped. Then his hands were on me—unhurried now, deliberate, running down my spine, over my hips, dragging my underwear down my legs. He kissed the base of my spine. The curve of my ass. Took his time there—his mouth hot and open against my skin, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, his hands spreading me open. His thumb traced between my cheeks and I pushed up onto my hands and knees.
He worked me up leisurely. Two fingers inside me from behind, curling while his thumb circled my clit. Not rushing. Building. He knew what he was doing—always did—and I was trembling before he'd even started what he'd promised. My hands fisted in the sheets, and every time I got close he backed off just enough to keep me on the edge.
"Brody—"
"Not yet."
"I swear to God?—"
"Patience, viper." He added a third finger and pressed deep, and my spine arched off the bed. "We ain't even gotten to the main event."
He pulled his fingers out and I whined at the loss. Felt the mattress shift.
