Page 183 of Disarm
He huffs a laugh and wraps his hand around me in answer. Just that contact alone makes my hips jerk.
“Quiet,” he murmurs, breath hot against the base of my cock. “Think of… statistics.”
“I’d rather die,” I hiss, then bite my lip when he strokes, slow and firm.
The first lick of his tongue along the underside of my cock nearly takes my soul with it. I muffle the sound in the inside of his thigh, teeth scraping gently over soft skin. He shudders.
“Careful,” he mutters, voice rough.
“Do you really want that, though?” I whisper, then close my mouth over the tip of him, letting my tongue glide down each ridge of his seven piercings.
He groans, low and broken, and for a second I’m terrified the sound carried through the wall. But then his hand tightens on me, my pace stutters, and all I can think about is him.
We find a rhythm—messy, real, ours. Hands and mouths, both of us trying not to make noise, both of us failing a little. His cock is heavy and hot on my tongue, the taste of him familiar and dizzying.
He twists his fingers just right on the upstroke and my knees go weak anyway. I have to grab his hip to ground myself, fingers digging into the muscle.
“Baby,” he rasps, muffled against my skin. “You feel… fuck.”
I hum, the vibration making him curse quietly in Spanish.
“Así… mi amor, despacio,”he breathes.“Te ves tan rico así… tan entregado.”
Heat flares, my whole body tightening. I pull off him long enough to whisper, “If you keep talking like that, I’m gonna?—”
He cuts me off by taking me deep into his mouth, sucking hard, and yeah, that’s it.
I bite down on the inside of my own arm to keep from yelling, vision going white around the edges as I come, hips jerking despite my best effort. Miguel doesn’t stop until I’m shaking, until the aftershocks make me whine quietly against his thigh.
He slows, gentles, and then lets me slip from his mouth. I rest my forehead against his hip, panting, fingers still curled around the base of him.
“My turn,” I whisper, voice wrecked. He’s not far behind me, I can tell by the way his breath stutters when I lick him again, by the twitch of his muscles under my palm.
“Caleb,” he warns, low.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, taking him as deep as I can, stroking what I can’t fit. “Come on, baby. Give it to me.”
Miguel mutters something filthy and beautiful in Spanish I can’t fully catch and then he’s gone, hips jerking, hand in my hair, trying not to thrust. I hold him through it, swallowing around him, hand splayed on his thigh to steady him.
He comes with a quiet, broken sound that I feel more than hear.
When it’s done, we’re both shaking and boneless. I turn carefully, rearranging us so we’re face-to-face again, legs tangled, breath mingling. He looks wrecked with his hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and lips kiss-bruised.
Happy.
“Hi,” I whisper, smiling helplessly.
“Hi back,” he echoes, voice hoarse. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Very okay.”
Tucking a stray hair behind my ear, he kisses my forehead. “Good.”
We breathe there for a while, letting the world shrink to the sound of the fan, the distant hum of the fridge, and the beat of his heart against my chest. In the dark, the future curls at the edges of my thoughts again—rings, boardwalks, maybe small feet in these hallways someday.
It still scares me. But it doesn’t feel impossible.
“Hey, Miggy?” I murmur.
