Page 106 of Coyote

"And?"

"And you're worth being scared over. I love you," I said. The word didn't fight me on the way out anymore. I'd been spending it for two months, and it still bought the same look on his face every time.

He opened his mouth.

I put my hand over it. "No speeches. Say it back, or kiss me. Those are the choices."

He moved my hand aside. "I love you, Percy," he said.

Two months he'd had that name and never once spent it, and he'd been saving it for this.

"I know." I had to stop and start again to get it out.

Then he took the kiss too, greedy man, and pulled me down into his lap. The casing pressed flat between us, already warm from his skin.

I started on his shirt buttons, and I couldn't shut my mouth either. "Boots first. Then the shirt. Then you're going to lie back and let me—" I stopped. "No. Scratch all of that. Your rules tonight, big man."

He pulled back and looked at me. "Say that again?"

"Your rules. I had a whole plan. You heard most of it in the bathhouse. I'm handing it over. That's the rest of the gift, so take it before I change my mind."

He held still for a moment, giving me the chance to do exactly that. When I didn't, he said, "Lie down."

My dick twitched. Turned out I liked being told.

I stretched out flat on the bedroll with my pulse thudding in my ears, waiting on orders in the one place I'd never taken one.

He started with my boots. One lace at a time, at a quarter of my speed, while I whined at him and dug a heel into his thigh to get him moving. He put the heel back down and did the other boot at the same pace. Then he opened my belt and peeled my jeans down my legs, and my cock sprang free and slapped my belly, already hard, already wet at the tip. The cave air hit my skin, and I hissed through my teeth.

He just looked. My knees in his big hands, firelight moving on his face. He'd put himself down on a dirt floor to do it, folded up under a ceiling built for a smaller man. He shifted his weight off the stitched side of his ribs and didn't mention it.

"John."

"Quiet. I'm working."

Oh, I was in so much trouble.

He pressed his lips to the crooked ridge of my right knuckles, one at a time. Then he shoved my shirt up under my arms and kissed the scar of his own teeth over my heart, end to end, twice. Every nerve I owned fired at once. My cock jumped and leaked a warm line onto my stomach before he'd laid one finger on it. He watched it happen and hummed, low and satisfied.

"You're leaking, little one."

"You're slow, big man."

"Mm. One of us is suffering more than the other."

He closed his lips over my nipple. I arched up off the bedroll and grabbed for his hair. That turned out to be the wrong move. Or the rightest one I made all night. He caught both my wrists in one hand and pinned them to the bedroll over my head.

"Hands stay."

"Since when do you give the—"

He swallowed my cock to the root with no warning.

He took me down in one long, wet slide, and I shouted. He held me there, deep, his nose against my belly, his throat working around the head of my cock. Then he pulled off, tongue flat and dragging the whole trip. My thighs shook against his shoulders. My hands strained against his grip and stayed exactly where he'd put them.

"There it is," he said, and kissed the tip. "That's the sound I wanted."

"Right there," I panted. "Deeper. Fuck. They should take your license. Faster, big man. Faster."