"Tell me how," I said, echoing his earlier words. "Tell me how to please you."
His hand wrapped around mine, guiding it to the base of his cock—thick, hot, already straining.
“Start slow,” he said, voice already wrecked with need. “Grip it like you mean it. Like you need it.”
I curled my fingers tighter, stroking from base to tip. His jaw flexed. His breath hitched.
“Good girl,” he muttered. “Now get on your knees for me.”
I slid down without hesitation, firelight at my back, the heat of him in front of me like gravity. I looked up.
His eyes were molten.
“You looked so fucking pretty with my hand around your throat,” he said, brushing his thumb across my lip. “Now I want to see how you look with my cock down your throat instead.”
The filth in his voice made my thighs clench. I parted my lips.
He didn’t push—he guided. Controlled. Owned.
“Open wide,” he said. “Relax your jaw. Let me see how much you can take.”
I wrapped my lips around him and took him in, the stretch and weight of it dizzying. His groan was immediate—low, brutal, full of satisfaction.
“Eyes on me,” he said, voice sharper now. “Don’t you dare look away. I want to watch you struggle for it.”
I did. I looked up as I sank lower, spit slicking my chin, my throat working to take more.
“Fuck yes,” he growled. “Just like that. Drooling all over me. So desperate. So fucking pretty when you’re messy.”
His grip tightened in my hair. His hips flexed, a slow, precise push deeper into my mouth. A whimper slipped out, muffled around him, and he hissed in response.
“You hear that?” he asked, voice jagged. “That sound you make when you choke on me? That’s my new favorite fucking sound.”
I worked him harder—tongue curling under the head, hand stroking what I couldn’t swallow. I was a mess. And I didn’t care.
“Christ, Grace,” he rasped. “You were made for this. Look at you—on your knees, mouth full, like you’ve been waiting your whole life to be ruined.”
His rhythm faltered. His breath turned ragged.
“I’m close,” he gritted out. “You gonna take it for me?”
I moaned around him—yes.
And that was it. His whole body went tight, his cock pulsing against my tongue as he came with a broken sound that made something deep in me snap.
When I finally pulled back, gasping, spit shining on my lips, his hands were still in my hair—gentle now, grounding me.
"That wasn't what I expected when you proposed your bargain," Rafe said, voice thick and low in the quiet between us.
I smiled against his skin, still tasting him, still riding the aftershocks. “No?”
“No,” he murmured, dragging his fingers in slow, lazy circles along my bare shoulder. “I thought you'd stay calculated. Distant. Keep the upper hand, like always.”
“So did I,” I admitted, the words slipping out easily now, everything loose and sated. “But sometimes we don’t know what we want until it’s shoved down our throat.”
His breath caught—then he laughed. Low. Rough. A sound that felt like sin.
“Careful, Grace,” he said, mouth curving against my temple. “You keep talking like that and I’ll forget this was supposed to beyourmoment in control.”
