Page 36 of Catching Flynn

When Flynn got too close, Zavier eased off just enough to keep him there, panting and shaking. He kissed his way back up Flynn’s body instead, licking the salt from his skin, taking his time until Flynn looked glassy and ruined already.

By the time Zavier stripped out of his own clothes, his dick ached. Flynn looked at him and made a helpless little noise that went straight under Zavier’s skin.

“Well,” Flynn said faintly, staring hard and not pretending otherwise. “There goes my remaining dignity.”

Zavier climbed back onto the bed and settled over him, enjoying the slide of Flynn’s thighs against his hips, the direct hot press of their cocks between them. Flynn’s lashes fluttered and his mouth fell open. He reached down, wrapped his fingers around Zavier’s dick, and stroked once.

That nearly ended him.

“Flynn.”

His mate looked up through tousled hair, lips swollen, expression soft with want. Then Flynn shifted lower on the bed and pushed at Zavier’s shoulder until Zavier sat back against the headboard.

Zavier understood only a second before Flynn pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh.

A rough groan tore from his chest.

Flynn glanced up with a quick flash of wickedness that nearly made Zavier laugh despite the pressure pounding through him. Then Flynn kissed the base of his dick, licked upward, and opened for him.

Every thought in Zavier’s head scattered.

Flynn sucked him carefully at first, as if learning. Wet, warm, hungry despite the nerves he still couldn’t quite hide. Zavier watched his mouth take him in, watched the hollow of his cheeks, watched one hand brace against Zavier’s thigh while the other stroked what his mouth didn’t hold.

“Fuck,” Zavier said, voice gone rough as gravel. He threaded his fingers through Flynn’s hair, not guiding, just touching. “Kitten.”

Flynn moaned around him at that, the vibration dragging another growl out of Zavier’s chest. He had to tip his head back for a second just to survive it. The sight when he looked again was even worse—Flynn’s lips stretched around his cock, spit shining, eyes half-lidded and fixed on him like he liked what he was doing.

Zavier’s abdomen tightened painfully. Every pull of Flynn’s mouth sent heat through him in thick, pulsing waves. He stroked a hand over Flynn’s hair, down the back of his head, along the line of his neck. Soft. Beautiful. His.

When Flynn drew off with a wet sound to breathe, Zavier caught his jaw and kissed him hard. He could taste himself in Flynn’s mouth, and something about that made his pulse slam.

“Come here,” he murmured, easing Flynn onto his back again.

Flynn’s chest rose and fell too fast. His lips were wrecked. His cock looked painfully hard, flushed against his stomach. Zavier reached into the nightstand, found the lube, and let out a slow breath when Flynn watched his every movement with hungry focus.

No more waiting.

He poured some into his palm and wrapped his hand around Flynn’s cock first, stroking slowly. His mate cried out softly and grabbed at the sheets. Zavier kissed him while he touched him, swallowing each sound. Then he let his slick fingers slide lower.

The first press at Flynn’s hole made him tense.

Zavier paused only long enough to kiss his mouth, his cheek, the corner of his jaw. “Breathe kitten.”

Flynn’s hands gripped at his shoulders. He nodded against Zavier’s lips, and the trust in that nearly wrecked him more than anything else had.

Gently, Zavier circled him, slicking him thoroughly before easing one finger in.

His mate gasped and went rigid for a heartbeat, then softened by degrees under Zavier’s steady touch. Zavier kept his mouth on him the whole time, kissing him slow, murmuring low nonsense against his lips, feeling each little tremor as Flynn adjusted around him.

“That’s it,” Zavier said, more to steady himself than anything.

Flynn exhaled shakily. “Very strange thing to get praised for.”

“You’re doing beautifully.”

A soft, wrecked laugh left Flynn. “That was smoother than my line.”

Zavier smiled and worked him open carefully. Another finger. More slick. More time. He paid attention to every reaction, every tightened breath, every clutch of fingers at his shoulders. His mate was so responsive, so honest in his body. When Zavier crooked his fingers just right, Flynn moaned helplessly and shoved his face into Zavier’s throat as if embarrassed by the sound.