Page 37 of My Forbidden Commander

I hum around him in answer, and his hips jerk forward before he can stop them, feeding himself deeper, and I let him. I take him further, relax my throat, breathe through my nose, and hold his gaze the entire time so he knows exactly whose choice this is. My eyes water. I don’t care. I want him to lose the last of that iron control, want to be the reason it finally goes.

“Christ,” he breathes, and his other hand cups the back of my skull, fingers spreading through my hair. “You’re going to kill me.”

I pull back just far enough to speak, my lips brushing the head of his cock, my voice rough. “Then choke me with it, sir. You know you want to.”

He finally commits. His grip tightens, both hands now, and his hips start to move, shallow at first, testing, watching my face for a flinch that won’t come. I relax my jaw, let him set the pace, and the sound he makes when he finally lets himself thrust deeper is the best thing I’ve heard on this entire base.

“Fuck, yes,” he grits out, hips rolling forward, feeding me inch by inch. “Take it. Take all of it.”

I do. I take everything he gives me, throat working around him, hands braced on his thighs to keep my balance as he starts to really move, forgetting himself, forgetting rank and regulation, until there’s nothing left but his ragged breathing and the slick sound of his cock sliding into my mouth.

“Noah.” My name again, rough, barely a whisper. “I’m not going to last.”

I dig my fingers into his hips as an answer, urging him on, and he groans low in his throat and comes apart right there against his door, hips stuttering, cock twitching on my tongue as he spills down my throat in hot, heavy pulses. I swallow every drop, don’t let a bit of him go to waste, and hold him there until the last tremor works its way out of his thighs.

When I finally pull back, his knees look unsteady. He’s braced against the door like it’s the only thing holding him up.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look up at him, grinning.

“Still think you’re not gay, sir?”

He drags in a breath but doesn’t answer me. Instead, he looks at the front of my pants where my crotch is tented.

He nods at it. “What about you?”

I feel my grin get wider. I stand up and start unbuckling my belt. “Want to give me a helping hand, sir?”

Gabriel blinks at me, then his eyes go dark again, and he nods.

“Great,” I say cheerfully. I don’t want to scare him off. A man deep in the closet will find a huge difference in receiving and giving. “Give me your hand, sir.”

I take it as soon as he moves and wrap his fingers over my cock. The first contact makes me hiss. “Fuck,” I breathe. “You have no idea how many times I pretended it was your hand on my dick when I jerked off.”

“Reyes,” he murmurs, and I can’t tell if he’s scandalized or flattered. Either way, I wrap my fingers around his and jerk off into his palm.

His hand isn’t soft—he may be a colonel, but he’s no pencil pusher. He handles a gun almost as often as I do. It’s strong and callused and bigger than mine.

Colonel Gabriel Wolfe is jerking me off and staring at it like it’s the first time he’s seen color TV.

I keep his hand wrapped around me, guiding it, showing him the rhythm my own hand knows by heart. His fingers catch on, learn fast, tighten just right at the head the way I like, and I let my eyes fall shut for a second before forcing them back open, because I don’t want to miss a single second of his face.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Just like that, sir. Fuck, your hand feels so much better than mine.”

Gabriel’s breathing has gone rough again, like watching me, jerking me off, is doing things to him even though he already came tonight. His thumb swipes over the head on the upstroke, catching the bead of precum there, and I hiss through my teeth.

“That’s it,” I say, my voice wavering. “God, I thought about this. Your hand on me. Every time I—every damn time.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his grip tightens, and his eyes stay locked on where his fingers wrap around my cock like he’s committing it to memory. I feel the heat building fast, faster than it should, but finally having his hand on my dick will do that.

“Gonna come, sir,” I warn, breath hitching. “Gonna come in your hand.”

I don’t give him a chance to respond. I close the last few inches between us and kiss him, swallowing down whatever sound wants to come out of me, and he groans against my mouth, surprised for half a second before he leans into it, kissing me back like he’s starving.

My hips jerk. My knees nearly give. I shake against him, spilling hot over both our hands, moaning his name into his mouth so nobody outside these plywood walls hears it but him.

“Gabriel,” I gasp, the name muffled between our lips, and he swallows that too, groaning quietly like it does something to him to hear it.

I ride it out against him, hips stuttering, until there’s nothing left but my ragged breath and his hand still wrapped around me, slick and spent.