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His hips move a little, though his control stays intact, and that restraint pulls harder than fighting me would have.
I draw back, letting his length slide over my tongue. His fingers flex against my scalp, and through the visor, his heat glows brighter in front of my face, his body telling me exactly what I’m doing to him.
He wanted the truth in color, and all I see is white-hot skin, his body lit up because of me.
I take his dick into my throat again, deeper this time, until my eyes stream and spit runs down my chin, one hand gripping his thigh and the other cupping his balls, dragging my nails over the tight skin.
“Jesus fuck,” he mutters.
The first rough grunt that leaves him sends a pulse through me so intense I moan around him.
This is the version of Fionn that gets under my skin.
Not the smug Harrington heir, but him breathing above me as if I’ve found a place he can’t keep hidden.
“Sera,” he hisses my name, and the ache between my legs throbs hotter.
This is the part I’ll never confess to. That kneeling on a Harrington’s floor with his dick in my throat is the least conflicted I’ve felt in months. That every wrong thing about it is exactly what’s making me clench.
He fists my hair, and I watch the heat spread when I hum around him.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he says, voice deep and uneven. “Use that bratty mouth for something other than lying to me.”
I hollow my cheeks and make him curse under his breath.
His hips move again, then he goes rigid, and the effort it takes him not to thrust into my mouth shoots a rush of delight through me.
“I know,” he says, rough now, “you felt that.”
I pull back just enough to speak. “Felt what?”
“The way you got wetter when I nearly stopped pretending I’m patient.”
My pulse kicks hard.
“Maybe I should make ya wait,” I say, scoring my nails up his thigh while my hand tightens around his dick. “Punish ya for thinking I’d make this easy.”
His thumb moves against my scalp, almost gentle, which somehow makes the rest of him worse.
“You think making me wait is punishment?”
The question is quiet enough to make my fingers still.
“It is if ya want it badly enough.”
“I do want it.” His voice drops lower. “That’s why I can wait.”
He goes quiet before stepping back.
The loss of him leaves my mouth empty, my lips wet, my body furious with the sudden absence.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You said punish me,” he says. “You picked the wrong weapon.”
I shift on my knees, my hand closing around nothing. “And what weapon should I have picked?”
“Yourself.”
