Page 14 of Crawl for Me

His gaze drops to his lap, ears pinking. “Praise,” he says softly. “I… I want praise. That’s all. I just… I just want words.”

Praise.

I ease my glass down onto the table slowly, chest constricting as I watch him unravel in real time—cheeks flushed, pulse visibly thumping at his throat, knuckles bone-white.

“Praise…” I echo.

His chest jerks with a nod, eyes darting everywhere but me. “Just… um—’good boy.’ Like you’ve said before. And… tell me I’m doing a good job.” The words tumble out so fast they nearly choke him. He swallows, hard, face scarlet. “That’s… that’s all I want.”

Oh. Well, fuck.

I shift on the couch, thighs tensing up from the shift in the air.

“Alright.” I nod once. “I can work with that.”

The silence stretches, wine humming in my blood. I don’t rush to fill it. Truth is, I don’t even know what the next move is. I’m not used to being handed the reins like this. It’s hot as hell, but shit —it’s also uncharted territory, equal parts tempting and dangerous.

It’s Noah who breaks first, his voice quietly breaking through the room. “You said… to say if I wanted something?”

I tilt my head, arching a brow. “Yes…”

He hesitates, chest rising sharp, and for a second, I think he’ll fold back in on himself. But then he drags in a breath through his nose, straightens his shoulders, and forces it out in one rough rush. “I want to make you come. Right now.”

My pulse gives a wicked little kick, teeth sinking into my bottom lip.

Oh, we’re doing this.

“Tell me,” I say, voice low. “What you want to do to me.”

He stares, mouth opening and shutting, breath stuttering in frantic bursts. “I—anything. Any way you want. I’m yours to use. I—fuck, Sable—I want you.”

Beautiful.

I tip my glass back, swallow the last of it, then lean forward, setting it on the table with deliberate slowness. My free hand brushes his wrist, guiding him back into the cushions. “Sit. Hands at your sides.”

He obeys— fast . Shoulders tight, spine straight, fingers digging into the sofa.

“Don’t move unless I say.”

A strangled sound claws up his throat.

“Say it,” I murmur, rising to my feet.

His gaze skates helplessly over me, then locks to my mouth. “I won’t move unless you say.”

I strip for him slowly, letting the silence stretch taut between us until it feels like I could pluck it and make him shatter.

“Again,” I say as I slip my shirt over my head.

He grips the couch harder, knuckles bloodless, breath caught between his teeth. “I won’t move unless you say.”

I strip for him piece by piece. His eyes track every inch I bare, pupils blown, his breath hitching louder each time another layer hits the floor. By the time I peel my underwear down my thighs, his chest is rising too fast, the flush climbing high on his throat.

I step in close, watching him shrink further into the cushions as I hook my fingers into the waistband of his slacks and drag them down enough to free the strain of him, thick and twitching beneath the thin stretch of his boxers.

He lets out a guttural noise when I climb into his lap, knees braced against the sofa, and straddle him.

Bare skin meets cloth—my pussy pressed right against the length of him, nothing but cotton keeping us apart. I shift slowly, grinding once, dragging wetness across the fabric until it clings, and his head snaps back against the couch with a strangled groan.

“This is all you want, isn’t it?” I murmur, rocking again, the drag of my bare pussy over the hard line of his cock catching enough to make my own breath stutter. I lean closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear, my voice steady even as my thighs tremble. “Just to be useful?”

His cock twitches beneath me, pulsing through the thin barrier. “Yes—fuck, yes.”

I brace my hands on his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, and set my rhythm. Grinding down, dragging my clit over him until sparks tear through me. “That’s it,” I pant, lifting and rolling again. “Stay still. Let me use you.”

“Yes,” he rasps. “Anything. Anything you want.”

He’s trembling under me, every muscle locked, like holding still is the hardest thing he’s ever done. His head tips back, throat bared, begging for something—anything—and I give it to him. My fist tangles in his hair and I haul his mouth to my neck.

“Kiss me,” I order. “Here.”

He obeys instantly, lips hot against my throat, open-mouthed, desperate. I grind down harder, the damp drag of my pussy over the ridge of his cock making me bite back a moan.

“Lower,” I murmur, tugging his head down by his hair until his mouth latches over my breast. The groan that rips out of him vibrates through me as his lips seal around my nipple, sucking hard enough that my back bows.

His tongue flicks clumsy and desperate, and the sound that leaves me is half-gasp, half-growl, as I ride him faster, harder, chasing the raw ache blooming between my thighs.

He groans, lips closing around my nipple.

“Fuck, Noah.” My nails rake through his hair, holding him tighter against me. “Don’t stop. Suck them like you mean it.”

He moans into my skin, muffled and obscene, sucking greedily in wet, messy pulls. My clit catches perfectly against the swollen head of his cock through the thin barrier of fabric.

“Good boy,” I breathe, over and over, the praise tumbling out with every grind of my hips. His cock pulses hard under me at the words, twitching up against my pussy, and the shock of it sends me grinding harder, chasing more. “Good boy. You’re doing so good for me.”

He jerks up suddenly, hips bucking, mouth slipping from my nipple with a ragged, “No—no, I?—”

“Noah.” I tug his head back so I can see his face. His eyes are blown wide and glassy, lips wet and swollen. “Don’t you dare hold back on me. Suck .”

“I—Sable, I can’t—” His voice fractures, breaking open with wrecked whimpers. “Oh, fuck—oh fuck—oh fuck?—”

And then I feel it. The sharp, rhythmic pulse of his cock under me, hard pulses spilling hot come through the cotton, wetting us both in sharp, stuttering bursts. He arches beneath me before collapsing into the cushions, chest heaving like he’s run himself into the ground.

Oh, that’s it. That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I could get off from that alone. Holy shit…

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he gasps, wrecked, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean?—”

“Breathe.” I catch his jaw before he can spiral, thumb stroking once over the flushed edge of his cheek. “You came in your boxers because I had my wet pussy grinding down on it, and I called you a good boy. Don’t you dare apologize for that.”

His head drops against my chest with a groan, but then he jolts upright, eyes wide and frantic. “Wait—fuck, you didn’t—let me—please let me… fuck. Can I—can I move?”

“Yes.”

The word’s barely out before he’s in motion—lifting me clumsily off his lap, all but tossing me onto the cushions.

The shock of it barely registers before he’s on the floor, knees sinking into the carpet, hands clamping onto my hips.

He drags me forward, thighs spilling open over his shoulders, and in less than a blink, his mouth is on me, no hesitation, no finesse—just raw, desperate need.

His tongue drags through my lips, messy and greedy, groaning into my pussy.

I throw my head back against the cushions, moaning.

He growls into me, half-choked. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to taste you again.”

The words vibrate against my clit, and I nearly come apart right there. His mouth seals tighter, sucking, tongue flicking, clumsy and frantic but so eager it doesn’t matter. My hips jerk up against him, grinding hard into his face.

Then his fingers shove inside me—two at once, rough and unsteady but curling just right. The stretch punches a cry out of my throat, and I claw at the cushions, grinding down against his mouth while he fucks me open with his hand.

The wet sounds fill the room, obscene, his mouth messy with spit and slick, his groans muffled into my pussy. My thighs lock around his head, pinning him there, and he doesn’t even flinch—just drives his fingers harder, tongue circling and circling until the pressure inside me snaps.

The orgasm rips through me, violent and hot, tearing me open with a shout I can’t hold back. My whole body seizes, clenching around his fingers as his tongue drags me through it, sucking and lapping.

He doesn’t stop. Not when I jolt, not when I whimper. His mouth stays sealed to me, desperate, drinking me down.

My legs twitch, overstimulated, shoving at his ears. “Enough,” I gasp, but he only groans into me, tongue pressing harder, sucking like he can drag another orgasm out of me by force.

I snarl under my breath, fist tangling in his hair. With one hard yank, I drag his face up. His lips are slick, chin wet, eyes wild and glassy, chest heaving. "Stop,” I bite out, holding him there until he freezes.

“But—” His voice cracks, still trembling.

“No buts.” My thumb drags slow over his mouth, smearing the mess across his flushed cheek, making his breath hitch.

“Look at you,” I murmur, leaning back into the cushions, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Shaking like you fought a war. And you still want more.”

His throat works, words stumbling out in pieces.

“I—I wanted to make it up to you. For… for before, for—” He breaks off, shaking his head hard.

“Christ, Sable, you’re so fucking beautiful it hurts.

I could make you come a hundred times, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

I’d still want more. I’ll always want more. ”

My chest tightens, my thighs still twitching with aftershocks, and for a moment I can’t decide if I want to laugh, kiss him, or shove him back down and let him prove it.

Instead, I reach for him, fingers curling into his shirt, tugging until he clambers up awkwardly from the floor and collapses onto the couch beside me.

“Here,” I murmur, sliding a hand up into his hair and guiding his head down onto my chest. He resists for half a second—nerves, always nerves—but then he melts, cheek pressing against me with a sigh.

My fingers stroke through his hair, slow and steady, and I feel the tension bleed out of him in shivers. “You did good, Noah,” I whisper into the crown of his head softly. “So damn good for me.”