Page 106 of The Gaybor War

"This okay?"

"Yeah," I say quietly. "Feels nice."

His smile softens just for a heartbeat before mischief creeps back in. I recognize that look now. It’s the one that means I’m about to regret my life choices.

"Good, because I’m not done with you yet."

My breath stutters.

He shifts, rolling closer, his knee sliding between mine, heat blooming where he presses in. His mouth finds the corner of my jaw, then my ear, his voice low and wicked.

"You’ve spent months pretending you weren’t thinking about me," he whispers. "I feel like I’m owed some thorough attention."

"Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm." His lips brush my skin, unhurried, unrelenting. "Call it… emotional damages."

I huff a breathless laugh. "You’re unbelievable."

He kisses me again, his lips lingering, devastating, and the quiet intimacy we’d built snaps back into something sharper, hotter, charged with intent.

Something in me shifts. Enough waiting. Enough reacting.

I slide my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, guiding him onto his back. He goes willingly, eyes dark, mouth curved in that wicked little smile that tells me he’s more than happy to see where this goes.

"Well. Someone’s feeling brave."

"Don’t ruin the moment."

His laugh is soft, breathless. "Impossible."

I lean in for a kiss, deeper this time, slower, letting him feel the change. Letting him feel that I’m not just keeping up anymore. That I’m choosing this. Him. His breath catches. That alone is worth it.

My mouth trails along his jaw, down his neck, my hands learning the lines of his body, the way he arches into my touch, the quiet sounds he tries and fails to swallow. Every reaction feels like a victory. Every soft inhale, every shiver.

Benji grips the sheets, eyes squeezed shut, a broken laugh leaving him. "Carter⁠—"

"Quiet," I murmur, not unkindly. "Your turn."

The power in that, in making him lose composure, sends a rush through me that’s almost dizzying. I take my time, exploring, discovering, enjoying the way his confidence fractures into breathless want beneath my hands. He opens his eyes to look at me, vulnerability, heat, and trust all tangled together. And for the first time since we started this ridiculous dance, I realize Benji isn’t the only one capable of wrecking someone.

I’ve got this.

I may not suck like a Hoover, but give me ten minutes and I can make him cum in my mouth.

I take my time, letting anticipation do most of the work, mapping every reaction, every sharp inhale. The confidence drains out of him, replaced by surrender.

"Carter," he whispers, half laugh, half plea.

And God, the sound of my name on his lips like that does something irreversible to me.

My tongue teases the head of his swollen cock, dipping into his slit to taste him. A shiver runs through him. Then I take him deep in my mouth and swallow around his girth, and Benji squeaks.

His fingers clutch at the sheets, then release, then clutch again, his control unraveling thread by careful thread. He locks his legs tight around my head, squeezing me in place with his thighs, and I slurp his dick for all I’m worth, bobbing and sucking until my jaw aches and my lips go numb. When he finally breaks, he clutches at me, laughter shaking through him, breath wrecked, eyes glazed and stunned.

He’s stunningly beautiful like this, enough to make my breath catch.

"Well, I stand corrected."