"Please what?" His breath hot against my cock, lips close enough that I can feel the shape of his words. "Tell me what you need."
"Your mouth. Please."
He gives it to me. Slow, wet, thorough — his tongue dragging up the underside of my cock, his lips wrapping around the head, taking me deeper in increments that make me gasp. Not the aggressive, performative blowjob I'd give someone else — this is deliberate. Intimate. He's paying attention to every sound I make, every shift of my hips, reading me the way he reads everything.
"Fuck—" My hands fly to his hair. The bun's already loose, dark strands falling around his face, and I grip and he groans around me, the vibration shooting up my spine. "Vaughn, that's — oh god—"
He pulls off. Kisses my hip. "Stay with me."
"I'm here, I'm here, please don't stop—"
He swallows me down again, deeper this time, one hand holding my hip against the mattress and the other sliding between my legs. His finger circles me — slick, when did he grab the lube — and presses in while his mouth works me and I nearly come off the bed.
"Shit — Vaughn — I can't—"
He pulls his mouth off and replaces it with his hand, stroking slow while he works me open with his fingers. One, then two, scissoring, finding the spot that makes my vision white out.
"Look at me," he says, and I force my eyes open.
He's kneeling between my legs, one hand around my cock, two fingers inside me, and his face is — wrecked. Flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark. The control is still there, the steadiness that's fundamentally Vaughn, but underneath it he's desperate.He wants me. Not a performance of me — me, falling apart with tears on my face and no script to follow.
"I want to fuck you," he says, low and rough. "I want to be inside you while you're like this. Real. Not performing. Can I?"
"Yes. God, yes."
He adds a third finger, stretches me until I'm begging — actually begging, not the pretty performance begging I do to make a guy feel powerful, but the ugly desperate kind where I've lost control of my mouth entirely. Then he's pulling his fingers out and slicking his cock and lining up and pushing in so slowly I think I might die.
"Stay with me," he says for the third time, and it lands differently when he's inside me. Not a request. A lifeline. His eyes on mine, his cock filling me, his hands on my face.
"I'm here," I tell him, and I mean it more than I've meant anything.
He moves. Not hard, not fast — deep. Rolling his hips in a rhythm that hits every nerve I have, his forehead dropping to mine, our breath mixing. It's nothing like the frantic, desperate sex we had the first time. It's slow and intense and unbearable, and I can't hide from it. Can't speed it up into something mindless. Can't perform my way through it.
"You feel incredible," he says against my mouth. "Robin, you're—"
"More. Please, more—"
He picks up the pace. Still controlled, still steady, but harder now — each thrust pressing a sound out of me that I can't contain. My legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper, and his hand finds my cock between us, stroking in time.
"Come for me," he says. "Not for the performance. For you."
I come with his name on my lips and tears on my cheeks and his eyes locked on mine, and it's the most terrifying orgasm of my life because I'm completely visible through all of it. Nowhere to hide. No mask. Just me, falling apart in Vaughn's hands while he watches every second.
He follows me — burying himself deep, groaning into my neck, his whole body shuddering. His teeth graze my shoulder, the same spot from last time, and the pressure is perfect.
"That's it," he murmurs against my skin, and my eyes are burning for entirely different reasons now.
After, he pulls me against him. I let him. My skin itches — every nerve ending screaming to pull away, to put distance between my body and his, to rebuild the wall that sex just demolished — but I stay. I press my face against his chest and grip his shoulders and stay.
It's physically uncomfortable. Vulnerability always is, for me.
But Vaughn's heartbeat is steady under my ear, and his hand is drawing slow circles on my back, and he doesn't say anything. Doesn't congratulate me for staying. Doesn't make it a thing. Just holds me like this is what people do, like it's easy, like it's nothing.
I fall asleep with my face against his chest and his arms around me and the itching fading to comfort.
Progress.
Chapter 12