Page 80 of Seven Minutes
I slid my hand into his waistband and wrapped my fingers around his hot, hard length. He gasped, and I molded my lips around his taut nipple, sucking until his fingers tightened in my hair. Eli bucked against me, and I gripped him tighter, sucked harder, until I drew my name from his lips.
“Adrian,” he hissed, pulling me closer still.
God, the sound of my name on his lips, so hungry. I kissed him hard, deep, until we were both gasping. His body arched into mine, seeking friction, connection, anything that made him feel alive and wanted andhere.
“Tell me what you need,” I murmured against his mouth.
“You,” he whispered, breath shaking against my skin. “Just… you.”
I gave him all of me, offering pressure where he guided, gentleness where he buckled, intimacy threaded through every touch. The room blurred into warmth and breath and the soft, broken sounds we pulled from each other. His hands roamed, clutching at my back, my shoulders, pulling my shirt over my head, grounding himself in every place he could reach.
Eli unraveled against me, not with pain but with relief, as if letting me hold him like this was its own act of healing.
He bucked into my fist when I stroked him faster. His precum gathered between my fingers, making the glide easier. His skin was hot velvet, pulsing in my hand with each pass.
“Do you need my mouth?” I asked, already knowing the answer but not wanting to assume wrongly and blow my chances.
“God, yes,” Eli hissed.
Tugging his pants down his thighs, I sucked the head of hisswollen cock between my lips and licked around his tip. He gasped and pushed further into my mouth, spearing my throat. My eyes watered as Eli pushed deeper, and I felt his whole body shudder when my throat convulsed around him. He grabbed my hair—hard enough to sting—and for a second I let him, let the rush of it take him wherever he needed to go.
But then I heard the edge in his breathing, that frantic, brittle sound I knew too well.
I didn’t want frantic. Not from him. Not tonight. I’d help him get there. We had all night.
I slid my hand over his, easing the pressure, guiding his grip to something gentler.
“Hey,” I rasped when I pulled back enough to breathe. My voice came out raw, wrecked already. “Look at me.”
Eli’s eyes snapped down, wild, unsure, and beautiful. I kissed the inside of his thigh, slow sucking kisses that left a trail of saliva, just to give him a second to breathe.
“Let me take my time,” I murmured against his skin.
I felt him loosen, just barely, and that was enough.
I wrapped my arms around the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer, and pressed soft, lingering kisses along the base of his cock, up the length, heat pooling low in me at the way he shook. Every little reaction he gave went straight to my balls.
“You always think I want it rough.” I brushed my lips over him, letting him feel the words. “Sometimes I just want you to let me take care of you. Worship you.”
His breath hitched, sharp, surprised, and I felt his fingers thread into my hair again, this time tentative, asking permission instead of taking it.
I sank my mouth over him slowly, letting him feel every inch of my intent. Not rushing. Not performance. Just want.
He broke on a sound I don’t think he meant to make. And God, the way that sound went through me.
“Yeah,” I whispered when I pulled back, stroking him with my hand. “Let it feel good. Let me make it good.”
Eli’s head fell back, his body curving toward me as if gravity had finally remembered who he belonged to. I held his hips steady, my movements unhurried, savoring him, relearning him, giving him everything he wouldn’t ask for.
He looked down at me again—eyes blown, cheeks flushed, all of him trembling—and the sight hit me so hard I nearly forgot to breathe.
“I need you,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said, mouth brushing him again. “I need you too.”
And then I took him back into my throat—slow, deep—because giving him this wasn’t submission. It was devotion.
My lips made pass after pass, sucking, slurping, drooling saliva down his shaft, down his balls. I savored every drop of flavor that coated my tongue. My hand and mouth worked in sync to bring him to the edge.
