"You're insane," Luka breathed, but his pupils were dilating, black swallowing blue.
"Probably," I agreed. "But I've spent years denying what I want, pretending to be satisfied with men who bored me to tears. Analyzing my own unhealthy attachments and attraction to danger until I convinced myself I could be content with safe, predictable partners." My voice dropped lower, a confession I'd never made aloud. "Now we might die at that funeral. I'm done pretending. Done wasting time." I leaned closer, close enough to feel his breath against my lips. "I wantthe control you have. I want to see what happens when you let it slip. Just a little. With me."
"Vince..."
"I know what I'm asking," I interrupted. "I know exactly who you are, what you're capable of. And I'm still asking."
He swallowed hard, and I could see the war in his eyes—wanting versus fear, need versus control. Finally, he nodded.
I kissed him softly, nothing like our previous desperate encounters. This was gentle exploration, learning the shape of his mouth when he wasn't trying to devour or be devoured. He made a small sound of surprise.
"Still okay?" I asked against his lips.
"I... yeah. Yes."
I kissed him again, deeper this time but still slow, my tongue tracing the seam of his lips until he opened for me. One hand tangled in his hair while the other rested on his chest, his heartbeat gradually slowing from its panicked racing.
"Let me see you," I murmured, fingers finding the hem of his shirt.
He lifted his arms, letting me pull it off, but I could see the vulnerability in the gesture. How many people had undressed him with care instead of haste?
In the dim light, his body was a work of art painted in light and shadow. His chest was broader than mine, muscles defined not from gym vanity but from years of functional use. A light dusting of dark hair spread across his pectorals, trailing down in a line that disappeared beneath his waistband.
I took my time, pressing kisses to his shoulder, his collarbone, the hollow of his throat. When my lips found a scar near his ribs, he shuddered.
"Bucharest," he murmured automatically.
I kissed it again, then moved to another. He named each one and I honored each with reverent attention.
When I scraped my teeth over his nipple, his whole body jerked.
"Sensitive," I noted, doing it again, harder this time.
"Fuck," he gasped, hands clutching at my hips.
I worked both nipples with teeth and tongue, alternating between gentle and rough until he writhed beneath me. His cock pressed hard against mine, and I ground down deliberately, making him groan.
"Still okay?" I asked, biting down on the junction of his neck and shoulder, hard enough to mark.
"Christ," he panted. "Yeah. More than okay."
I moved lower, teeth and tongue claiming territory down his chest, branding him with marks that would linger for days. Saliva flooded my mouth as I glanced up, hooking hungry fingers in his waistband.
"Want to taste you," I said, not really asking.
"Please," was all he managed.
I pulled his boxers down, freeing his cock, those ladder piercings catching the dim light. I'd been curious about them since that first glimpse, and now I had time to explore. I traced one with my fingertip, watching him shudder.
"These must have hurt," I said, leaning closer to breathe hot air over the tip.
"Worth it," he gasped. "Fuck, Vince, please..."
I licked a long stripe from base to tip, letting my tongue catch on each piercing. The metal was cool against my tongue, creating interesting texture. When I took just the head in my mouth, sucking hard, he made a sound that went straight to my cock.
"God, your mouth," he panted, fingers tangling in my hair.
I pulled off with an obscene pop. "You haven't seen anything yet."
