Chapter 55 It's later...
The episode is winding down, the flickering light of the television casting shadows across the room, but my focus has shifted entirely. Halfway through the hour, we’d rearranged ourselves.... I’m lying on my side now, tucked securely between Michael’s legs, my head on his lap.
"Are you hungry?" he murmurs, his voice vibrating through my skull where I’m resting against him. "We could order something."
I swallow hard, a sharp, electric awareness of him surging through me, drowning out everything else. I shift, nuzzling closer into the heat of his stomach. I wrap one arm around his waist, anchoring myself to him, while my other hand finds the heavy, thickening shape of him through the fabric of his pants.
Michael lets out a sharp, hissed breath, his fingers tightening in my hair. I know he’s worried. I know he’s playing the protector, counting my heartbeats and watching my breath, but I need him to stop. I’ve craved this specific, visceral contact for longer than I can remember. And the fact that I’m experiencing it with him makes the hunger clawing at my insides unbearable.
"Ryan," he utters, my name sounding like a warning and a plea all at once.
I don't listen, I begin to stroke him slowly, and a thrill shoots through me as I feel him harden beneath my touch. It’s an intoxicating power, knowing I'm responsible for this. That a man like him wants me so much he’s willing to starve his own desire for my sake.
His other hand, which had been resting idly on my upper arm, tightens instantly. I feel the sudden corded tension in his thighs, the way his breath hitches and holds.
I unfasten his pants and free him into the air, my breath catching as I look at him. He’s magnificent...thick, pulsing, and already weeping a bead of moisture at the tip. He looks dangerous and beautiful, a heavy weight of heat that I want to lose myself in.
I lean down and lick a slow, wet line along the underside of his length, savoring the salt and the heat of him. A deep, guttural sound ripples through his chest. I flick my gaze up, meeting his eyes. They’re dark and glazed with a lethal amount of restraint.
"You said 'later'," I whisper, my voice low and heady. "It’s later, Michael."
I stroke him once....twice, watching his knuckles turn white as he grips the cushions of the couch. Then, I lean in and slowly take him into my mouth.
His whole body tenses into a rigid line when I hollow out my cheeks, the suction creating a vacuum that draws another wrecked sound from his throat. I want to taste the very center of him. I want to show him that I’m not fragile.
He lets out a string of curses, the sound vibrating through the couch cushions and into my chest. His hands fly to my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, tightening for a split second in a reflexive grip before he suddenly flinches and lets go, his palms hovering as if he’s terrified of being too rough.
I stop, his weight still heavy on my tongue, and look up at him through my lashes. I reach up, catching his hand and guiding it back to my hair, forcing his fingers to lock back into the strands.
I don’t want his caution....I need his heat.
He swallows hard, his throat tight with the effort. Then he gives me a slow, curt nod, the fire in his eyes darkening.
"God....Ryan," he rasps, his voice a scorched wreck. "Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you look right now? Looking up at me while you've got me shoved that deep in your mouth? It’s making me lose my damn mind."
A flush creeps up my neck, hot and undeniable, but I ignore it. A small, flickering doubt tries to spark in the back of my brain....wondering if I’m doing this right. It’s been ages since I’ve been with anyone, and honestly, I’d never been particularly fond of this in the past. It always felt like a performance.
But with him, it’s different.
There’s this unexplainable, visceral need clawing at me. I don’t just want to do it, I want to be good at it. I want to make him feel the same shattering, bone-deep undoing he just gave me. I want to be the reason he forgets how to breathe.
His hand flexes in my hair, no longer hesitant. He applies a firm, steady pressure, guiding me back down, urging me to take more. I obey without a second's thought, my mouth stretching as I take him deeper, the back of my throat hitting his tip.
I reach out, one hand grabbing onto his thigh for leverage, the other wrapping around the base of him to steady the rhythm. I can feel the frantic, heavy thrum of his pulse against my palm. I begin to move, a slow, sliding friction that draws a broken groan from his lips.
He’s shaking now, his hips making small, involuntary hitches toward me. Every time I hollow out my cheeks, every time my tongue sweeps against him, he tenses like he's about to snap. I’m focused on nothing but the taste of him and the wrecked sounds he’s making....sounds that tell me I’m not fragile, and I’m definitely doing this right.
His breath hitches. I feel the shift in him instantly, the caution is gone, replaced by something primal and starving. His fingers tighten in my hair with a new, commanding strength.
He begins to move his hips, a sharp, rhythmic thrust that forces me to open wider, to take the full, punishing weight of him. I lose the ability to lead as he takes over the pace, driving into me with a desperate, unrefined hunger. My vision blurs, the edges of the room fraying into static. I’m anchored only by the iron grip he has on my hair and the solid weight of his thigh beneath my hand.
I hollow out my cheeks, working my tongue against the underside of his length, and he lets out a sound that is half-moan, half-sob.
"Ryan, fuck!" he gasps, his head snapping back against the sofa.
He’s close. I can feel it in the way his muscles are vibrating, the way his pulse is hammering against my lips. I swallow him as deep as I can, my throat constricting around him, and that’s the final blow. Michael’s hips lock, his entire frame shuddering. He thrusts one last time, deep and desperate, and I feel the violent pulse of his release.
It’s a flood...hot, thick, and overwhelming. I don’t pull back. I take every drop of him, my eyes fluttering shut as I swallow through the intensity of it.
I stay there for a long moment, even after the last pulse fades, my forehead resting against his stomach as we both try to remember how to exist in a world that isn't shaking. His hand is still in my hair, but the grip has softened to a lingering, trembling caress.