Page 77 of About to Fall

“Nicky, if you don't—”

I licked a slow stripe up the underside of his cock. Felt his abs clench under my free hand. Took just the head into my mouth and sucked—light, teasing, nowhere near enough—while my fingers kept working inside him. His hips stuttered, caught between pushing forward into my mouth and back onto my hand, unable to commit to either.

“You're—fuck—you're doing this on purpose—”

I swirled my tongue around the head. Dipped into the slit. Tasted salt and heat and him. Let my lips drag down, slow, taking more of him, then pulled off entirely and blew cool air across the wet skin.

His whole body jerked like a puppet being yanked by its strings and he grabbed my wrist.

“Now, Nicky. I can't wait anymore—I'm going to blow.”

So I pulled back. Lined myself up. And sank inside him in one slow, devastating stroke.

He wasn't kidding about how close he was.

The moment I slid past his prostate, his whole body seized. His cock jerked and then he was coming—untouched, back arching off the bed, head thrown back against the pillow. Cum painted his black jock, his stomach, his chest. Rope after rope while I held still inside him, watching, barely breathing.

He was squeezing around me so hard I couldn’t move a millimetre.

“Oh fuck—” His voice cracked. “Keep going. There's more.”

So I gripped his hips and moved. Slow at first—deliberate, controlled—angling myself to drag across his prostate on every stroke. I wanted him to feel this. Wanted to make him feel as good as he had made me feel.

I found the angle that made him cry out and stayed there. Hitting it over and over, watching his face, cataloguing every reaction. The way his mouth fell open. The way his hands fisted in the sheets. The way his half hard cock twitched against his stomach every time I drove home.

“Right there—Nicky, right there, don't stop—”

I wasn't going to stop. I was going to take him apart piece by piece until he was so blissed out he couldn’t remember his own name.

Pink hair splayed across the white pillow. Lips parted, silver rings catching the low light. Eyes half closed and glazed with pleasure. He looked like something out of a fever dream. Something I'd conjured in the dark on all those nights I'd told myself I wasn't thinking about him.

He reached up, found my hand where it gripped his hip, and pulled it to his throat.

Pressed my fingers against his pulse point.

Oh.

I squeezed—gentle, testing—and felt his whole body shudder beneath me. His cock twitched, impossibly, already hardening again against his stomach.

“More,” he breathed.

I squeezed harder. Felt his pulse hammering against my palm. Watched his eyes roll back as his airway narrowed just enough. His hips rolled up to meet mine, matching me thrust for thrust.

He was so beautiful like this. Wild and untamed—nothing like the swaggering, smirking version the world got. This was the Adrian underneath. The one who said I trust you and meant it with his whole body.

I couldn't resist. I leaned down and kissed him—deep and slow, the opposite of how I was moving inside him—and the contrast broke him apart.

He made a muffled, desperate noise against my mouth and then he was coming again. Less this time, but his whole body was shaking with it, clenching around me so tightly it was almost painful.

That was what pushed me over.

I buried myself deep and came with his throat in my hand and his name on my lips and Paris glowing through the window behind us.

We lay there afterward. Breathing hard. Neither of us moving. His cum was cooling on his chest. I was still inside him. The room smelled like sex and sweat.

“Holy shit,” Adrian said eventually.

“Yeah.”