Page 10 of Breaking the Lawyer (Straight No More #4)

"Not yet," he says, and then he's slowing down, changing the angle, making it less intense but somehow more intimate. "We have time."

Time. Right. We have time.

Except I don't want time. I want this. I want him. I want to come with his cock pressed against mine, want to feel him lose control the same way I am.

But he's already pulling back slightly, breaking the contact, and I actually whimper at the loss.

"Easy," he laughs, but there's strain in his voice too.

Easy for him to say. He's not the one discovering a whole new dimension of pleasure.

Christian rolls off me and I force myself to still, shoving my hands under my ass so I won't be tempted to touch. "Show me," I manage, my voice rough with need.

He reaches into his discarded pants and pulls out a small bottle of lube and a condom. The sight of them makes my heart race even faster, makes this whole thing feel suddenly real.

"You sure about this?" he asks, settling next to me.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"Look at me, Brooks."

I meet his eyes, and the intensity there nearly undoes me. "I'm sure."

He sets the condom aside and hands me the lube. "We'll take it slow. Start with one finger."

I sit up, taking the bottle with trembling hands. He lies back in front of me, spreading his muscular thighs, and I think I might actually die from the visual alone.

"Which finger?" I ask, because my brain has apparently taken the night off.

He chuckles. "Either one works."

I pour lube into my palm—way too much, but better safe than sorry—and spread it over my fingers.

"Now what?" My voice comes out strangled.

"Touch me. Everywhere. Learn what I feel like."

I don't need to be told twice. I start with his chest, mapping the broad expanse with my palms. His skin is warm and smooth, stretched taut over hard muscle. When I brush over his nipples, he makes a soft sound that goes straight to my cock.

"Like that?" I ask.

"Yeah. Like that."

I continue my exploration, running my hands down his sides, over his abs, feeling the way they contract under my touch. His cock is right there, hard and thick and begging for attention, but I want to savor this. Want to memorize every inch of him.

When I finally wrap my slick hand around his shaft, we both groan. He's bigger than me, thicker, and the weight of him in my palm is intoxicating. I stroke him slowly, watching his face for reactions, learning what makes him gasp, what makes his hips jerk.

"Feels good," he breathes, eyes falling closed.

"You feel incredible," I tell him, and it's the truth. Everything about him is perfect—the silky skin, the way he responds to my touch, the sounds he makes.

I stroke him a few more times, then let my hand drift lower to cup his balls. They're heavy and warm, and when I roll them gently in my palm, he lets out a shaky exhale.

"Brooks..."

"I know." I pour more lube onto my fingers, coating them thoroughly. "I'm ready."

I reach down between his legs, finding the tight ring of muscle I've been thinking about all day. He's warm here too, and when I press the tip of my finger against him, he spreads his legs wider in invitation.

"Slowly," he reminds me.

I push in just the tip, feeling the incredible heat of him. He's so tight, so perfect, and the fact that he's letting me do this—trusting me with this—makes my chest tight with something that feels suspiciously like emotion.

"More," he says, voice strained.

I push deeper, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. But he just looks blissful, head thrown back, mouth slightly open. When I'm fully inside him, I pause, letting him adjust.

"Move," he instructs. "In and out."

I do as he says, establishing a slow rhythm. The sensation is incredible—he's so hot and tight around my finger, and every time I move, he makes these little sounds that drive me crazy. A part of me gets lost in the experience—in him , and I lose all track of time.

"Another," he gasps after a while.

I add a second finger, and he tenses for a moment before relaxing again. The stretch is more noticeable now, and I can see the effect it's having on him. His cock is leaking steadily, and there's a flush spreading across his chest.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Mmhmm," he moans. "Keep going."

I establish a pace with both fingers, thrusting in and out while my other hand finds his cock again. The combination has him writhing beneath me. It’s mesmerizing.

This.

This is what I've been missing. The way he responds to every touch, every movement.

It's like we're speaking a language I didn't know I knew.

"I need to taste you," I hear myself say, and before he can respond, I'm leaning down to take his cock into my mouth.

And this is the exact moment I lose my mind, if there even was anything to lose to begin with.

He's thick and hard on my tongue, and the taste of him, salty and clean, makes me moan around his shaft. I keep my fingers moving inside him while I suck him, and the combination seems to drive him wild.

"Fuck," he gasps, one hand threading through my hair. "That's so good."

I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, using everything I learned from watching him earlier. When I swirl my tongue around the head, his hips buck up involuntarily.

"Sorry," he breathes.

I pull off just long enough to say, "Don't apologize. I like it."

And God, I do. I like the way he loses control when I touch him. Like the sounds he makes, the way his body responds. I've never felt anything like this before—this desperate need to please someone, to make them feel good.

I go back to sucking him, using my tongue and lips while my fingers continue their steady rhythm inside him. He's getting close, I can tell—his breathing is ragged, his muscles tense.

"Stop," he says suddenly, his hand tightening in my hair.

I pull off momentarily, my heart jumping in my chest, fingers still buried inside him but frozen. "Did I do something wrong?"

He gives me a look that's pure sin. "No. But I thought you said you wanted me to ride you."

Fuck.

Fuck .

I squeeze my eyes shut as I withdraw my fingers, because even looking at him right now is too much.

"Lie down,” he commands and my body obeys automatically, like he’s the one in charge of it.

My entire being's vibrating like a tuning fork as I collapse onto the blanket. The night air should cool me down, but it doesn't do shit against the fire burning under my skin.

I'm about to fuck a man.

Fuck. A man .

The thought should send me running. Instead, my dick practically salutes.

He kneels beside me, all long limbs and lean muscle, his cock thick and shining from my spit. When he reaches for the condom, I can't look away from his hands .

"You're shaking," Christian points out, tearing the packet with his teeth.

"Nervous as hell," I admit. No point in sugar-coating it.

"Good nervous or ' call me a cab ' nervous?"

"The kind where I might embarrass myself in the next thirty seconds."

His laugh is low and dirty. "We'll see about that."

He rolls the condom down my shaft with practiced ease, and fuck me—I've never had anyone else do this. It was always my job, my responsibility, my fumbling around in the dark. But watching him handle my cock like he owns it...

"Jesus," I breathe.

"Feel good?" His fingers stroke me through the latex.

"Too fucking good." My hips jerk up on their own. "I'm gonna come before you even—"

"No, you're not." His grip tightens just shy of painful. "You're going to wait."

The command in his voice makes my balls draw up tight. Who the hell is this guy, and when did I become the type of person who gets off on being told what to do?

He reaches for the lube, coating his palm before wrapping it around me. The slide is perfect—slick and warm and maddening. I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from losing it right there.

"Look at me," he says.

I force my eyes open just as he's positioning himself over me. One hand splayed across my chest for balance, the other reaching back to guide my cock where it needs to go.

The first touch of my head against his hole makes us both hiss. He's molten hot, tight as a fist, and I can feel him working to take me in.

"Relax," I manage, though I'm talking to myself as much as him.

He sinks down an inch. Then another.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

It's like being swallowed by silk-lined steel. Every millimeter of my dick is screaming, and he's only taken half of me. His face is pure concentration—brows furrowed, lips parted, breathing shallow through his nose.

"More," I hear myself say, because apparently I'm a masochist now.

He sinks down further, and I watch his eyes flutter shut as I fill him completely. The intensity on his face burns itself into my brain.

"Wait." I grab his hips hard enough to bruise when he's fully seated. "Give me a fucking second."

He stills, breathing hard. "You okay?"

"I feel like I'm about to explode and we haven't even started moving yet."

He clenches around me deliberately, and I nearly black out. "Better hurry up then."

Bastard.

I open my eyes to find him smirking down at me, and the sight steals what's left of my breath. He's gorgeous like this—flushed and disheveled, my cock buried to the hilt inside him. His own dick is hard and leaking against my stomach, painting wet streaks across my skin.

"Can I—" I reach up tentatively toward his shaft.

"Fucking touch me already."

I wrap my hand around him, and he shudders. He's burning hot in my palm, and when I stroke him from base to tip, he makes this broken sound that shoots through my spine.

"Move," I breathe. "Please, I need—"

He lifts his hips slowly, and I feel every inch of him sliding along my cock. The friction is perfect torture, and when he sinks back down, I can't stop the groan that tears out of my throat.

"Like that?" he asks, starting a slow rhythm.

"Exactly like that. Don't fucking stop."

He rides me with deliberate slowness, letting me feel every squeeze, every pulse of his body around mine. It's exquisite agony, and I'm not sure how much I can take.