He shifts in my hold, pushing closer. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Wouldn’t dare, but I’m not going to waste this opportunity either.”
“You’re a witch,” he mutters.
“Been called worse.” My heart races as I grip him tighter. “Such a big boy.”
“Don’t sound too surprised,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“I’m not. Your ego and influence are larger than average. It’s only logical that you’d be blessed with a cock to match. I bet you’ve never wanted for anything.”
His eyes flash. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“Tell me. Do you want more?”
His nod is sharp. “But it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Just a quick release. In return, you’ll let me go.”
The strain in his neck highlights his fading restraint. “You won’t get far.”
“That’s for me to worry about.”
I start pumping him at a steady pace. It’s difficult through his jeans, but I manage. Our difference in height comes in handy. My arm doesn’t have to stretch far as I increase the tempo. Tension radiates through him. His response is intoxicating. I find myself preening, ready to unleash the full impact of my talents.
And then Byron whimpers. It’s such a vulnerable sound, one I doubt he realizes he even made. Maybe he’ll regret it later.
I made him do that. My touch is making him weak. Me.
My confidence sips on his surrender, the soft pleas that encourage me to keep going. He wants this. Maybe even needs it. Badly. I’ll never hear him say it, but I can feel it with every twitch of his muscles. My own desires feed on it.
This tough man is submitting to pleasure he’s so clearly been lacking. The fact that it’s provided under my command is anaddictive feeling. I want to push him further. All the way over the edge until he’s begging me for relief.
And that’s when he gives it to me.
“Please,” he whispers.
I stroke him faster. “Please what?”
“Please don’t stop. Please go faster. Please make me come. Just… please.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” I purr.
My palm grips him harder as I increase my pace. I press our bodies even closer, granting him more friction. Tremors quake through him before he’s thrusting into my grasp. His hands clench at his sides. A loud drum beats in his chest. Tendons and muscles flex to the point of snapping. If he grinds his teeth any harder, he’s going to crack a molar. The desperation in those reflexive actions is an incentive. I’m in control, which probably drives him even crazier than what I’m doing to his cock. But it’s not enough to stop me.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “I’m close.”
I contemplate edging him or leaving him hanging. Neither feels like a victory compared to making him come undone. “That’s a good boy. Make a mess in your pants. I want to see it.”
And that’s all he needs. He shudders and jerks in my hold, bucking against me. It’s hard to hang on, but he’s almost there. Breathy sounds spill from him. The helpless pitch of his lust turns me on.
His wild motions suddenly still. A guttural groan rips from him as he finds release. My eyes widen on the dark stain that instantly soaks the front of his jeans. It’s a visual I’ll never forget.
“Consider that a parting gift,” I murmur while putting some much-needed space between us.
Byron scowls, but the expression lacks fire. His chest rises and falls quickly. An unmistakable pink dusts his cheeks. This disheveled version of him is too endearing.
Especially when he says, “I’m not letting you get away with that.”