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I don’t want him to stop, and he doesn’t.
The next thrust is slower, controlled despite everything, and he holds me there while my throat works around him. “Don’t forget to breathe through your nose,” he rasps. “You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good.”
The praise is rougher now, fractured by the rhythm of his hips. He’s fucking my face—there’s no other word for it—holding my head steady with that iron grip while he drives into my throat in shallow, measured thrusts that have me choking and moaning and loving every second of it.
“And don’t forget your safe word,” he grunts between thrusts. “Say it if it’s too much. Blue, Kira.”
Even if I wanted to, there’s no way for me to say that with his cock filling my throat.
“Squeeze my thigh once if you need me to let go,” he says, seeming to have reached the same realization I just had.
Even though I don’t mean to, I squeeze his thigh once. But when I feel him easing his grip, I squeeze him again and moan around his length so he knows I don’t want him to let go.
“I’m going to come,” he growls. “Fuck, Kira, I’m gonna…”
His hips jerk forward one final time, his cock buried to the hilt in my throat, and he comes with a groan that sounds like it’s been ripped out of him.
“Ungh… shit! Mmm!”
Thick, hot pulses of his cum flood my throat, and I swallow reflexively, again and again, feeling each pulse against my tongue, tasting him as he empties himself down my throat.
Domenico holds me there until the last pulse fades, his hand still twisted in my hair, his cock still pressed deep, and the only sound is our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city below.
When he finally lets me pull back, I’m gasping, tears streaking my cheeks, my jaw aching and my throat raw. A strand of saliva connects my lower lip to the head of his cock for one obscene second before breaking.
My husband’s slumped in the chair, one hand still tangled loosely in my hair, his chest heaving, his eyes half-closed and dazed in a way I’ve never seen before. His tie is hanging loose around his neck, his shirt is hanging open where I unbuttoned it, and there’s a flush across his chest that spreads all the way to his throat.
I did that, and the pride that blooms in my chest is warm and fierce and entirely unrepentant.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and sit back on my heels, looking up at him with what I’m sure is a smug, satisfied smile spreading across my face.
Domenico looks down at me through hooded eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Come here,” he says, his voice rough. “Right now.”
Domenico’s arms are around me before I can process the command. He pulls me up from my knees and into his lap in one smooth motion, my legs straddling his thighs, and reaches for the blanket that fell to the stone during… everything.
The wool is cold against my skin, but he tucks it around both of us, his larger body warming the space between us. His cock is soft against my inner thigh, and the intimacy of that—him spent, relaxed, holding me against his chest while the city slowly changes color below us—sends a different kind of warmth through my chest.
The black is fading to gray. Not sunrise yet, but the promise of it—a thin line of lighter darkness along the eastern horizon, the buildings starting to separate from the sky.
“You really are perfect,” he rasps.
His mouth is on mine before I can answer. For once, there’s no urgency in the kiss. His tongue leisurely strokes mine, not caring one bit that I just swallowed his cum.
As he deepens the kiss, his hand finds my thigh under the blanket. It slides higher, fingers tracing the inside of my leg with deliberate pressure, and when they brush against the wet heat between my thighs, I grab his wrist.
“Not right now, Daddy,” I murmur against his mouth.
Domenico goes very still for one second. Two. Then his hand withdraws from between my legs without argument. His eyes find mine, searching, and for a second, I think I’ve hurt him.
“You’re saying no.” It’s not a question. His voice is rough, but there’s no anger in it. Just careful attention, the way he listens when something matters.
“I’m saying not right now.” I adjust myself in his lap, settling more comfortably against his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my ear. “I wanted to do that for you. Just for you. And now…” I gesture at the sky, at the thin line of light slowly thickening along the horizon. “… I want to sit here. In your lap. And watch the sun come up.”
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s considering. Domenico looks at me for a long moment, his blue eyes dark in the pre-dawn gray, and then his arm tightens around my waist.
“Okay,” he says. Simple. Final.
