his hands are shaking. not from nerves (well, okay, maybe a little from nerves), but mostly from how bad he’s holding back.
you’ve got him on the edge of the bed, thighs spread just enough for you to kneel between them. he’s looking down at you through half-lidded eyes, jaw tight, like he’s trying really hard not to pull you up onto his lap. but, no. you insisted on sinking down onto the floor in front of him.
your palms smooth up the insides of his thighs over his sweats, slow and deliberate, and you feel the muscle in his leg jump under your touch. he’s breathing heavier already, hair falling into his face, and it’s the prettiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen.
“you don’t–” he swallows hard, eyes darting to the way your fingers are brushing over the outline of his cock. “you don’t have to–”
you laugh, quiet, almost teasing. “i want to, cho.”
and then you’re tugging his waistband down, just enough for him to spring free– flushed and leaking, his breath hitching the second your fingers wrap around him.
“fuck,” he hisses, head tipping back for a second before he forces himself to look down at you again. “you’re… you’re going to kill me.”
you lick along the underside of his cock, tracing that thick vein with the tip of your tongue, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a moan and a plea– choked, needy, like he’s never felt anything so good and it’s already too much.
his hands twitch at his sides, knuckles going white against the mattress like he’s physically restraining himself from grabbing you. he’s too polite, too careful, until you glance up through your lashes and smirk.
“go ahead.”
it’s all the permission he needs. his fingers sink into your hair instantly, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. the other grabs tight onto the edge of the mattress. you can hear the sheet threads pop apart under the pressure of his fingernails.
“shit–” he breathes out, hips shifting just a little when you wrap your lips around him, taking him in slow until your nose brushes the soft skin of his lower stomach. his fingers in your hair tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you hum around him.
that hum has him cursing again, his head falling forward so a strand of hair swings into his eyes. “you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”
you pull back, letting him slip from your mouth with a slick sound, and your hand replaces it, stroking him slow and filthy as you lick your lips. “then make sure you die pretty.”
his breath stutters like you just knocked the air out of him, and you can feel the way his cock twitches in your grip. his fingers flex in your hair, trying to decide if he should beg or take control.
“fuck, you’re–” his voice breaks, and he tilts his head back just enough for you to watch his throat work as he swallows hard. “you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”
you smile, slow and dangerous, giving him one last stroke before taking him into your mouth again, deeper this time, until his thighs tense under your palms. he groans, the sound low and desperate, his hips jerking just a little despite himself. you know he isn’t going to last much longer.
how easy he is for you.
