Chapter 50*

*A/N: This is 2200 words of utter filth. Read or skip as you please. 

His grip tightens. "You gonna ride this out or are you gonna keep pretending you don't want it?"

I shift just slightly in his lap, enough to draw a sharp breath from his nose. Enough to feel him twitch beneath me.

"That answer your question?" I murmur, meeting his stare with one of my own.

"Then what are you waiting for darling?" he says with a smirk, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back into them.

And now I'm lost.

I look at him confused, waiting for an explanation. But it doesn't come. He simply raises an eyebrow and shrugs his shoulders as if I should know what to do next.

"Sorry, were you waiting for me to do something?" he says sarcastically with a low laugh.

I swallow hard, pulse skittering. His thigh is solid beneath me, all tension and heat, and I'm suddenly far too aware of how little there is between us. My hands rest against his chest without really meaning to, grounding myself, because I know what he's suggesting now. And it terrifies me.

He wants me to grind on his tight until I cum.

I blink down at him. "You're serious?"

His smirk deepens. "Deadly."

A beat of silence. His eyes are hooded but alert, watching every flicker of doubt across my face. He doesn't move to help. Doesn't shift, doesn't push. Just sits back, arms still behind his head like he's lounging on a sunbed.

"Come on, Holton," he drawls. "If you want this, take it. You obviously like the power on top. Show me how much you like it."

His words crawl under my skin like smoke, impossible to ignore. He knows exactly what he's doing. Making me work for it. Making me admit how much I want it by doing it myself.

I hesitate for a second longer. Then I shift. Just a little. Just enough to feel the pressure. The friction.

His eyes flare. But he doesn't speak.

Heat blooms low in my stomach. My hands grip the hem of his shirt where it's ridden up, fingertips pressing into his skin. I move again. Tentative. Testing. It sends a flicker of sensation straight through me, and I let out the softest sound before I can stop it.

That gets his attention.

"There it is," he murmurs, voice smug and hungry. "Knew you'd figure it out."

I glare at him, cheeks burning. "Don't."

"Don't what?" He tilts his head innocently. "Encourage you? Praise you for being such a good girl?"

My eyes roll back.

"You're such a-"

"Look at you," he cuts in, voice low, coaxing now. "Getting yourself off on my thigh. Letting me watch. I promise it's not easy to keep my hands to myself right now, but the sight of you grinding it out on my thigh is just enough to keep them where they are."

He shifts his leg just slightly beneath me, flexing it once, and my breath stutters hard. His thigh presses exactly where I need it and it's humiliating how fast the pleasure coils.

"You can stop any time," he says, voice barely above a whisper now, wicked and warm. "After all, it's you in control. But you don't want to, do you darling?"

I hate how much I want to. How much I need it. How much he knows it.

"Answer me pretty girl," he pushes.

"No, I don't want to stop."

"Because it feels good, doesn't it. Hmm? Come on tell me how it feels," he coaxes.

"Yes, fuck, it feels good," I breath out, moving myself against him.

I keep moving, slowly, deliberately, the rhythm awkward at first until I find it. His eyes never leave mine. His hands stay behind his head, the picture of control, like he's got all the time in the world to watch me unravel.

And God, I'm close already. The pressure, the friction, the way he's looking at me like I'm the only thing that's ever held his attention for more than five seconds.

I ride his thigh shamelessly because it feels so fucking good. I try not to think about the view he has of me, and instead focus on the way his muscle feels against my clit.

When I feel myself getting closer, he's already primed, capitalising on the moment. 

"You gonna let go for me, darling?" he murmurs. "Or you still trying to prove a point?"

My reply dies on my tongue.

Because when I cum, it's with a gasp against his throat, forehead pressed to his shoulder, pulse hammering as everything tightens and releases at once. My body trembling against his, thighs clenching around the one of his that just ruined me.

His hands finally come down, slow and steady, one sliding up my back, the other curling possessively around my hip.

"Fuckin' knew you'd be good like this," he mutters into my hair. "Should've made you work for it sooner."

His hand rests on the curve of my back, fingers tracing lazy circles against my skin as my breathing starts to slow. I stay there, still in his lap, my cheek pressed to his shoulder, heart pounding like I've just run miles.

"Maybe that'll let you rest properly for a bit," he says with a genuine smile. 

Just like that, he's back in the role of leader, protector.

But I can't rest. I can feel him. Hard beneath me.

I lift my head slowly and meet his eyes. "You didn't..."

And he hasn't. Since the first time he got me off in the armoury, I've never returned the favour.

He shrugs, like it's nothing. "Wasn't about me."

"You're hard," I say, matter-of-factly.

A smile twitches at the corner of his lips.

"Whose fault is that?" he laughs. He's not annoyed, irritated, or frustrated. He's not like others I've been with. Selfish, takers, greedy. He's the opposite. "Besides, just fucking looking at you is enough to make my dick twitch, it's nothing new."

I feel myself blushing at his admission. I find it hard to comprehend that a man like him could feel that way about me.

I shoot him a look, but my hand slips down between us anyway, tentative. He grabs my wrist before I get there.

"Holton," he says, warning soft in his voice. "You don't have to."

"I know," I whisper.

I do know. He would never ask for it, and he would never expect it.

His fingers stay wrapped around my wrist. "I mean it. I'd wait all fuckin' year for you. I'll make you cum a hundred more times before I even think about-"

"Yeah," I cut him off, shifting slightly in his lap so I can really look at him. "But I want to."

That shuts him up.

His eyes flicker, his grip loosening just enough for my fingers to move. I trail them along the waistband of his trousers, watching the way his throat bobs when he swallows.

"You're always asking me what I want. Well, what I want, is you."

His jaw tenses, like he doesn't trust himself to speak.

So, I kiss him.

And I move off his thigh and settle between his legs, my hands gliding down over his stomach as I go. He leans up on his elbows, watching me, utterly still.

I undo his trousers.

He exhales through his nose, head tipping back briefly.

"Wait- I want you to be sure," he groans out.

"Does this look like hesitation to you?" I ask boldly, throwing his own line back at him. "You think I'd get on my knees if I wasn't desperate for it?"

He smirks, and it turns into a groan when I wrap my hand around him properly.

He's always been the one with control, with the lines and the rules. But here, like this, I get to be the one who gives. I love it.

He watches every second. No teasing now. No smirking. Just focus.

I begin to move my hand up and down around him.

His breathing quickens.

Then I dip down, stopping with my mouth just inches away from him. I look up at him and hold contact with him for a moment.

Then I drop my gaze back, lower my head and swipe my tongue along him, from the base to the tip.

"Fuck, I can't tell you how many times I've came into my hand thinking about you like this," he groans out, voice deeper than I've heard before.

I swirl my tongue around the tip a few times. My other hand reaches down to cup his balls. I spend a few moments here, taking my time, swiping my tongue over the slit occasionally.

Then I put the tip in my mouth, closing my lips around him. I stay there, still focusing on the head. The sound that comes from him is guttural and as I look up at him, his eyes flutter closed.

I push my head down further, moving down his shaft. I hollow my cheeks, sucking him.

His hips push up slightly, but immediately drop back down. I can tell he's holding himself back.

Determined to finally show him that this is truly what I want, I push even further down, feeling him hit the back of my throat, and breathing hard through my nose to fight against the reflex. One hand continues to roll his balls between my fingers, while the other grips firmly on the base of his cock.

"I could watch you like this forever," he breathes. I look up again, and his eyes are open now, staring back at me.

I slide my mouth off him momentarily, before dipping down to lick up his underside, this time keeping eye contact. His mouth drops open and his chest moves up and down aggressively.

His hand comes to the back of my head. Not rough, not forcing, just resting there. Possessive. Intentional. Like he's claiming the moment again. Like he's reminding me that even now, even here, he's still him.

"If you keep looking at me like that, sucking me like that-" His voice drops lower, rougher, "I won't be able to stay gentle for much longer,"

"I don't want you to," I whisper.

"Then fucking put it back in your mouth and don't stop until I tell you to," he murmurs.

This time it's me who moans and I wrap my lips around him again.

I take him back in, slower this time, deeper. His hand tightens slightly at the back of my head, not forcing, just guiding, letting me know he's there. That he could take over at any second, but he's choosing to let me do this my way.

And that choice, that power he still holds, even now, drives me wild.

I find a rhythm, one he responds to with every low groan, every shallow breath. His thighs tense beneath my hands. I can tell he's trying to keep it together, trying not to buck his hips or let the pressure take over too fast.

But then I hum softly around him, and his control fractures.

"Fuck, Holton." My name breaks from his mouth like a warning, but it's nothing but praise. I feel his fingers flex against my scalp, and I moan again, the vibration pulling another sound from his throat.

"You like my cock in your mouth, don't you? Everybody wants to fucking kill us but all you can think about is sucking me off. Do you know how fucking filthy that makes your little mind? My dirty fucking girl."

His words only make me work faster, harder.

"Hmm? Where's that mouth that loves to backchat so fucking much? Too full with my cock to give me cheek? So much to say, until you're on your knees," the dirty talk continues falling out of his mouth. It's supposed to be him that cums, but I think it might be me again.

I keep sucking, not giving in to his tactics. After all, he did say not to stop unless he tells me to.

His hips are moving slightly more now, though he's still being relatively restrained.

He moans out loudly.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum soon gorgeous, you need to move now if you don't want it" he breathes heavily.

I keep sucking.

"Holton, you've got about 10 seconds to take your mouth off me before I cum down the back of your throat," he warns. But I have no intention of going anywhere.

"Seriously, I don't want to take more than you're ready for," he pants.

I wish he'd just fucking shut up and do it.

I think he needs to hear it from me.

"I'm ready and I want it, I want to taste you" I say, hoping he'll finally believe me.

It's enough to shut him up as he leans his head back and closes his eyes. I can feel his thighs tense and he breaths heavier than ever. I look up at him. His eyes scrunch shut tightly and he lets out a shaky groan as he hot cum shoots down my throat.

I keep working until he finishes before sliding off and swallowing.

I wipe the corner of my mouth, glancing up at him through my lashes.

He's still recovering, chest rising and falling, skin flushed and glowing with aftershock. When our eyes meet, he doesn't speak, just stares, like he's trying to memorize the moment. Then his hand moves, slow and reverent, brushing back a strand of hair from my face.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters hoarsely. "You're gonna kill me."