I barely had time to gasp before he pulled back, just enough for me to see him looking up at me—pupils blown, mouth slick.
“You want to come,mila?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He dove back in, working me fiercely with his hand and tongue until the tension snapped, fast and violent, ripping through me before I could brace. I arched, heels digging into Luka’s shoulders. The cry that ripped out of me didn’t feel human.
My vision blurred, then narrowed. The kitchen lights snapped to pinpricks behind my eyelids.
He didn’t slow, didn’t let up. Not while I twisted under him, not while my body convulsed around his hand. He only stopped when my muscles finally gave out, leaving me sagging against the counter.
His mouth and chin glistened. His eyes were bright, satisfied. He kissed me before I found my breath, deep and claiming. His hand was still hooked between my thighs, fingers pumping slow and deliberate, drawing out every aftershock.
I whimpered and grabbed his wrist, tugging him closer. “Let me—fuck, Luka, let me?—”
He kissed me again, swallowing the rest. “Let you what,mila?”
I blinked, thoughts scattering. Words wouldn’t come.
So I took hold of him instead. He was hard in my hand, heat and weight and restrained tension. I looked up at him.
His eyes were hooded, his jaw tight. A hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
He said nothing. Just watched me—waiting, daring.
“Please…” I rasped, fingers curling around his length. “Let me return the favor.”
He braced his hands on the counter, arms caging me in. “Are you begging for my cock?”
“No.”
I slid off the counter and down to my knees in front of him.
“I’m not asking.”
Then I squeezed his length, rolling my thumb along the underside, relishing the way his hips jittered forward, the way his breath hitched.
Luka arched an eyebrow, a smirk ghosting the edge of his mouth. “Feisty little?—”
I cut him off, swallowing him halfway down in one greedy lurch. Tangy salt and musk filled my mouth. He bucked, his cock hitting the back of my throat. He tangled his fingers in my hair, tightening until my scalp tingled, his other hand braced hard against the counter.
I sucked, hard, hollowing out my cheeks. He groaned—a sound ripped straight from the back of his lungs.
He tried to say something else—another taunt, probably—but the words broke apart as I took him deeper. His hips jolted, knees notching into my shoulders to pin me, and for a second, he lost the rhythm and thrust, teeth bared, breath high and wild. I gagged, then recovered, breathing through my nose, spit and want pooling at the corners of my lips.
“Fuck, Alex—” He hissed the words.
I gripped the base and worked him steadily, my hand sliding up to meet my mouth, tongue following the length of him until the pressure shifted, the taste thick at the back of my throat.
For a second, I thought he’d lose control.
Instead, he tightened his grip in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to force my mouth open wider.
I took more of him, harder this time, chasing the rough sounds he couldn’t hold back, the way his hips stuttered. He held me there, deep enough to steal my breath. I fought the reflex to pull away, focused on taking him, on the tension building in his body.
Just as the pressure peaked, he pulled free.
The head of his cock was flushed and wet. My lips felt swollen, raw.
He reached down for his discarded jeans on the floor and pulled a condom from his pocket. A soft tear, a glide, and it was on.