Page 33 of The Equation of Us
“Go slow,” he instructs, his voice tight with restraint. “I want to feel every second of this.”
I obey, moving slowly, deliberately. I can tell he’s holding back, letting me set the pace for now. His thighs are tense beneath my hands, his breathing controlled but quickening.
“Look at me,” he says.
I raise my eyes, meeting his gaze while I continue working him with my mouth. The intensity in his expression nearly undoes me—desire mixed with something that looks almost like awe.
“Perfect,” he murmurs. “So fucking perfect.”
The praise washes over me, warm and intoxicating. I’ve always been driven by validation, by knowing I’m exceeding expectations. This is no different, except that it’s more visceral, more immediate. I can feel his pleasure, taste it, hear it in the way his breathing changes.
His hand tightens slightly at my nape. “Fuck, Nora.” He gazes down at me in wonder, like he can’t take his eyes away from where his very thick erection is pushing into my mouth again and again.
“You like doing this for me? Like sucking on my cock?” His voice is little more than a harsh pant.
I make an inaudible sound that sounds a lot likeyes.
“Good.” A breath punches out of him. “Because you look perfect like this…” He brushes his knuckles along my cheek. “I love watching you follow my instructions. So precise, so perfect, even like this—on your knees for me.”
Warmth spreads through me at his praise, at the rough sound of his voice. I want to use my hands, want to feel how hard and solid he is against my palm, but I keep my hands on his thighs, my nails lightly grazing his skin.
“That’s it. Take me deeper. Such a good fucking girl,” he says with a grunt.
I never would have guessed the quietest guy in engineering had such a filthy mouth. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.
I increase my pace, taking him deeper, hollowing my cheeks on the upstroke. His thighs tense further under my hands.
A rough sound pushes past his lips.
“That’s it,” he says, voice strained. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
The command in his tone sends another surge of arousal through me. I’m aware of my own body now—the ache between my legs, the sensitivity of my breasts pressed against the thinfabric of my bralette, the way my breasts bounce slightly each time he bumps his cock into the back of my throat.
Dean’s control starts to slip as I continue. His hips move slightly, meeting my rhythm. His hand guides my head more firmly, though never forcing.
“Nora,” he says, my name sounding like both a prayer and a curse. “I’m close. You can pull back.”
But I don’t want to. I want to feel him come apart because of me. I want to be the one who breaks that careful control.
I take him deeper, using every technique I know, looking up to maintain eye contact.
“Fuck,” he groans, the single word raw and unfiltered. His hand tightens in my hair—a warning. “I’m going to come.”
I don’t pull away. Instead, I double down, determined to take him over the edge.
With a low sound, he climaxes, his body tensing, his hand holding me steady. I take all of it, continuing to work him through the aftershocks until he gently tugs me away.
For a moment, we stay like that—me on my knees, looking up at him; him standing above me, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, eyes dark and intense. His length huge and hard and damp with my saliva.
Then he’s pulling me to my feet, his movements swift and certain. Before I can process what’s happening, he’s kissing me deeply, seemingly unbothered by where my mouth has just been.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says against my lips. I’m guessing he means swallow.
“I wanted to,” I reply, feeling strangely powerful despite my supposed submission.
He studies my face, and whatever he sees there seems to please him. “You liked it,” he observes. Not a question.
I nod, a little embarrassed by how much I enjoyed it.
