I take his cock in my mouth.

The head first, then slowly working my way down, feeling the thick length slide across my tongue, hard and pulsing and still slightly damp from the shower.

The taste of him fills my mouth... something that’s just fundamentally Bael, something I’m starting to crave without meaning to.

I take him deeper, inch by inch, until I’ve got almost the full length of him, my lips stretched wide, my jaw already starting to ache in that good way that tells me this is real, this is happening.

My own cock is straining hard against my pants, uncomfortably confined, and I can already feel the slick starting between my legs, my body preparing itself, opening up, getting ready even though nothing’s touched me there yet.

But that’s not what I want right now.

Right now I want this, I want to feel the weight of his dick heavy on my tongue, want to make him lose that infuriating control he wears like armor, want to hear what sounds he makes when he can’t hold back anymore.

I hollow my cheeks and suck, pulling back slowly before sliding down again, setting a rhythm that’s deliberately slow, deliberately teasing.

Above me, Bael makes a sharp intake of breath.

It’s small, barely audible, but I caught it.

Victory.

His hand moves to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair.

Holding me. His palm is warm against my scalp, grounding, and then he starts guiding me, setting a rhythm that’s firmer than what I was doing, more purposeful.

I let him.

Let him move my head up and down the length of his cock, let him take what he wants while I work my tongue against the underside, tracing the thick vein that runs along his shaft, feeling the way he twitches slightly when I press just right.

The control of it... the way he’s holding me, directing me, using my mouth, does something to me that I’m not prepared for.

Heat pools low and heavy in my stomach, spreads outward until my whole body feels sensitized, electric. I press my thighs together trying to get some friction, some relief from the growing ache, but it’s not enough.

Nothing’s enough except more of this.

I pull back until just the head of his cock is in my mouth, then swirl my tongue around it, paying special attention to the sensitive spot just under the ridge.

I suck gently, experimentally, and feel the way his fingers tighten fractionally in my hair.

There.

That’s the spot.

I work it deliberately, alternating between soft licks and harder suction, learning what makes his breathing change, what makes his grip go tighter, what pulls those barely-audible sounds from his throat.

His cock is leaking now, pre-cum bitter-salt on my tongue, and I lap at it greedily before taking him deep again.

As deep as I can manage.

The thick length of him slides across my tongue, fills my mouth completely, and then he’s hitting the back of my throat and I can’t breathe, can’t think, can only feel the fullness and the stretch and the way my throat tries to work around the intrusion.

His hand grips my head suddenly, firm, demanding, and pulls me back just far enough that I can drag in a desperate breath through my nose.

Then he slams back in.

Deep.

Forceful.

So deep I can feel him in my throat, can feel my body trying to adjust, trying to take it.

I make a sound, garbled, desperate, and feel him tense above me, feel his cock pulse and swell, and then he’s cuming, spilling hot and thick directly down my throat while he holds me there, buried deep, his hips making small involuntary thrusts like he can’t quite stop himself.

The taste floods my mouth when he finally pulls back slightly, salty, bitter, overwhelmingly him—and I swallow it down, swallow everything he gives me while trying to catch my breath.

My eyes are watering. I can feel tears tracking down my cheeks.

I pull back slowly, letting his cock slide out of my mouth, and look up at him.

His eyes are dark, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any color left, and his expression is caught somewhere between satisfaction and hunger, like he just came but he’s still not satisfied, still wants more.

Good.

Because so do I.

I swallow again deliberately, making sure he’s watching, then lick my lips slowly like I’ve just finished eating something delicious, like I’m savoring the taste of him.

Because I am.

His eyes track the movement of my tongue, and something in his expression shifts, goes darker, hungrier.

I climb up his body, straddling his hips, hands bracing on his shoulders for balance. Get close enough that I can see his face clearly, see the faint flush across his cheekbones, the way his lips are slightly parted as he breathes.

And I see it...just for a fraction of a second, something flashing across his face.

Anticipation.

Raw, undisguised want.

It’s gone almost before I register it, locked back down behind that controlled mask he wears, but I saw it.

Proof that he wants this as much as I do.

My heart is racing, pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, and there’s an ache between my legs that’s becoming impossible to ignore.

I’m slick and open and desperate, my body practically begging to be filled, and I can feel his cock against my ass, already hard again, ready.

How is he hard again already?

I don’t care.

Don’t have the mental capacity to care.

I just lean down and latch onto his neck, sucking hard enough that I know it’ll leave a mark, something dark and obvious that everyone will see.

I want him marked, physical evidence that this happened, that I did this to him, that for at least this moment he was mine.

Then I shift my hips, trying to line us up properly.

Except it’s harder than I expected.

The angle’s not quite right, or I’m too tense, or something, because I can’t quite get him inside no matter how I adjust.

I can feel the head of his cock pressing against me, can feel my body trying to open for it, but it’s not working the way it does when he does this, when he handles everything with that effortless control.

Frustrating.

I make a small sound of irritation and shift again, and his hands tighten on my hips, steadying me, grounding me, but still not taking over.

Still letting me struggle.

Still making me ask.

Fine.

"Hmm..." I pull back slightly, looking at him. "Bael, I’ve finished eating the ice cream... can you reward me now?"

His eyes go even darker.

Then his hands move, grip my ass, fingers digging in hard enough to probably bruise, spreading me open.

And he drives up.

One hard, smooth thrust that fills me completely, splits me open, buries him so deep I can feel him everywhere.

The sound that tears out of my throat is obscene...too loud, too desperate, completely shameless, but I can’t control it.

I can’t control the way my whole body shakes, the way my mouth goes slack and wet, the way pleasure shoots up my spine so intense it’s almost painful.

He’s so deep.

So impossibly deep.

I can feel every inch of him stretching me, filling me, pressing against places that make my vision go white at the edges.

My mouth is literally watering, saliva pooling under my tongue like my body has forgotten how to function properly, too overwhelmed by sensation to remember basic things like swallowing.

Perfect doesn’t even begin to cover it.

He leans forward and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, just licks it at first, soft and teasing, his tongue circling the sensitive bud while I’m still trying to recover from being filled so suddenly, so completely.

Then he lifts me.

Hands gripping my ass, muscles flexing as he raises my body up along the length of his cock until just the head is still inside me.

Holds me there for one agonizing second.

Then slams me back down.

Hard.

Deep.

Exactly what I need.

He sets a brutal rhythm, lifting and dropping me, fucking up into me with thrusts so deep I can feel him in my stomach, so hard the sound of skin meeting skin echoes obscenely through the quiet room.

I’m making noises I don’t recognize. High and desperate and completely uncontrolled, broken moans and gasping breaths and his name, maybe, though I can’t tell anymore if I’m actually speaking or just thinking so loud it feels like speaking.

His mouth is still on my chest, tongue working my nipple, and then his teeth graze across it, and the sharp sensation combined with the overwhelming fullness of his cock inside me is too much.

Way too much.

My orgasm crashes through me without warning.

Pleasure so intense it whites out everything else, makes my whole body lock up and shake, makes me clench down hard on his cock while he keeps fucking me through it, keeps driving up into me while I fall apart on top of him.

I’m vaguely aware that I’m screaming.

Vaguely aware of my nails digging into his shoulders, probably drawing blood.

Vaguely aware of cum spilling hot between us, making a mess of both our stomachs.

But mostly I’m just lost in it, in the waves of pleasure that keep crashing over me, in the feeling of him still hard and thick inside me, still moving, still taking what he wants.

When I come back to myself, gasping and shaking, he’s already moving me.

Turning me around with hands that are firm but careful, repositioning me until I’m face-down on the bed, ass raised, completely exposed.

He pulls out, just for a second, just long enough that I feel the emptiness, the aching loss, and then he’s driving back in from behind.

Deeper.

The angle is different like this, lets him get even deeper than before, and I can’t do anything except press my face into the pillows and take it.

Take the relentless rhythm he sets, each thrust deep and precise and devastating.

Take the way he grips my hips hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises.

Take the pleasure that’s already building again even though I just came, even though I’m oversensitive and shaking and not sure my body can handle another orgasm.

He fucks me thoroughly.

That’s the only word for it.

Thorough.

Like he’s determined to take me apart completely, to map every sensitive spot inside me with his cock, to make sure I’ll feel this tomorrow, the day after, maybe longer.

Time stops meaning anything.

I lose track of how long we’ve been like this, all I know is the rhythm of his hips, the feeling of being filled over and over, the building pressure that tells me I’m going to cum again whether I’m ready or not.

When my second orgasm hits, it’s quieter.

Less explosive.

Just pleasure rolling through me in long, steady waves while he keeps moving, keeps chasing his own release.

I feel it when he cums, the way his rhythm stutters, the low sound he makes that’s almost vulnerable, almost human, the way his cock pulses inside me, filling me with heat.

Then he stills.

And I collapse.

Just completely give up on holding myself up, let my body go boneless and heavy against the mattress.

Every muscle feels like liquid.

I’m vaguely aware of him pulling out, of the mess between my legs, of cum and slick leaking out of me onto the sheets.

Should probably care about that.

Should probably do something.

But I can’t move.

I physically cannot make my body cooperate.

And honestly? I’m completely fine with that.

Determined, even, to not move a single muscle until morning at the earliest.

Maybe longer.

I hear him get up, the shift of weight on the mattress, footsteps crossing to the bathroom, water running.

Then he’s back.

Something warm and damp against my skin, a washcloth, probably,carefully cleaning the mess between my legs.

Gentle.

Thorough in a completely different way than before.

I should probably be embarrassed.

Should probably help, or at least acknowledge what he’s doing.

But I just lie there, barely conscious, letting him take care of me.

And there’s something about that, about being cared for like this, about not having to do anything except exist and be taken care of, that settles warm and content in my chest.

By the time he finishes, I’m already mostly asleep.

Drifting in that pleasant hazy space where thoughts don’t quite form properly and everything feels soft and distant.

I’m smiling.

I can feel it, the way my lips are curved up, the pleasant ache in my cheeks.

Can’t remember the last time I felt this satisfied.

This boneless.

This completely and utterly content.

The bed shifts as he lies down beside me.

His arm slides around my waist, pulls me back against his chest.

Warm.

Safe.

Perfect.

I sink into sleep wrapped in that warmth, that safety, that perfect contentment.