His eyes are closed.
“Your mouth,” he says. Voice rough. “Your mouth is — fuck — your mouth feels —”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”
“Good.”
I take him deep again.
This time I don’t go slow. I find a rhythm — mouth and hand working in counterpoint, my tongue pressing flat against the underside on every pass, my fist twisting at the base as I come up. His hips start to move and I let them. His hand in my hair tightens.
“Christ — Nova — yeah — like that —”
His sentences are still whole. I want them broken.
I cup his balls with my free hand. Roll them gently. Squeeze once.
His hand fists harder in my hair.
“Baby — slow down —”
I don’t slow down.
I take him deeper than I usually take him. Feel him hit the back of my throat. Feel myself almost gag and breathe through it and keep going. His hand presses against my scalp — not forcing me, but the pressure is there, asking, and I give him the answer hewants by pushing into it. Going deeper. Letting him be in my throat.
I gag once. Quietly. Eyes water.
I don’t pull off.
“Jesus. Nova. Look at you. Look at you taking that—”
I look up at him while he’s in my throat.
Something happens to his face.
“Fuck. Fuck.”
I pull back. Off. Hand still working him. Tongue flicking the slit while I catch my breath.
“It feels incredible, baby.” His voice is rough. Specific. Honest. “The way you take my cock. The way you—”
I take him back in.
“Christ — Nova —”
His sentences are getting shorter.
I work him faster. Harder. My hand twisting at the base, my mouth hollowing on every pass, his hips moving against my face now — small, controlled, the last edge of his discipline holdingon. I taste him changing on my tongue. Salt and heat and the pulse of him building.
“Nova — baby — I’m—”
He’s trying to warn me.
I don’t pull off.
I take him deeper.
