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“Please,” I say, before I can stop myself.
“Please, what?”
Ashamed by my need, I turn away.
He hooks a finger beneath my chin and turns me back. “Say it.”
The word costs me. “Move.”
His hips roll forward in a single deep grind that punches the air from my lungs and leaves me with nowhere to go, his weight pinning me beneath him.
“Like that?”
I can’t answer past the whine building in my throat. He does it again, and stars burst across my eyelids.
My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, trying to set a pace he refuses to follow. His hand finds my hip and holds it down.
“Tell me what you need,” he says, unhurried, like he isn’t watching me come apart.
What I need is for him to never stop. What I need is to never have to ask.
“Harder,” I manage. “Please.”
He cups the back of my head before he drives forward, and the sound he pulls from me is nothing I could have prepared for.
“There it is,” he purrs against my throat. “That’s what I wanted.”
My nails find his back and drag, which only encourages him.
His mouth moves to the spot below my ear and stays there, not kissing so much as claiming, teeth clamping down without breaking skin, and I tilt my head back without even thinking about it. He takes the offering, working his way to the hinge of my jaw and down to my collarbone, leaving a stinging kiss in each place he touches.
“You can—” I start. “I want you to—”
His mouth never leaves my skin. “But not yet.”
I want to argue. I can’t.
His hand slides between us to wrap around my dick, and the embarrassing moan that escapes fills the room. His thumb drags across the head, and I bite down hard on my lip to stop myself from moaning again.
“Stop that,” he says without looking up.
I stop, my mouth falling open.
The fullness of him and the rough drag of his palm on my dick become too much, and something gives way inside me that I didn’t realize I was holding. Tears slip down my temples and into my hair before I can stop them.
“I’ve got you.” He grinds into me, deep and slow. “Let go for me.”
I don’t wipe the tears away or apologize for them as I hold on, one hand clutching at his shoulder, the other wrapped around his wrist where his hand works my dick.
“Orien,” I gasp out. “I’m going to—”
His pace doesn’t slow. “Give it to me.”
My body responds without hesitation, back arching off the bed as I come apart in his fist, my inner walls clenching and releasing around him, my cry smothered by where my mouth rests at his throat. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t gentle, working me through it until the sensitivity crosses past the line of pleasure, and I writhe beneath him, tugging at the hand still stroking my now sensitive dick.
“Too much—”
“I know,” he says again, and keeps going.
