Page 154 of Detectives in Love

That’s what breaks him.

His other hand finds my jaw, fingers gentle, thumb brushing my cheek—and then he starts to move. Slow at first, controlled. But not for long.

I meet his rhythm, hollowing my cheeks, dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock. He watches—eyes low, lips parted—and then the restraint snaps.

“Newt…” he growls, voice rough. “Fuck… fuck…”

A few more thrusts and he shudders, coming hard in my mouth with a groan—one hand gripping my chin, the other still tangled in my hair. I swallow everything, his taste heady on my tongue, my head spinning—not just from the lack of air.

When it’s over, I pull back, catching my breath, lips swollen. Xavier stares down at me, wide-eyed.

“Jesus, are you okay?” he asks, voice frayed, already reaching to pull me back up onto the pillows.

I laugh, still breathless. “I’m great. You?”

“Yes,” he whispers, like he can’t quite believe it. His hand finds my cheek, thumb brushing my skin, eyes locked onmine. He’s breathing hard, staring at me like I’m unreal—then leans in, kissing my cheeks, my chin, my mouth. Urgent, messy, full of need.

I can’t stop smiling, giddy and a little stunned.

“Newt,” Xavier breathes between kisses. He sounds flustered, completely wrecked. God—hearing Xavier Ormond come apart like this because of me—it’s unreal. I feel high on it. I don’t even care that my leg hurts, though somewhere in the back of my mind, I hope I’m not bleeding all over the sheets.

When he lifts up and starts to shift, I realize what he’s doing and catch his face.

“Xavier,” I say. “It’s okay, you don’t have to…reciprocate.”

He freezes, frowning like I just said I don’t want him. “Why?”

“I—I don’t think my leg can take it,” I add quickly.

“Alright,” he says, lying back down beside me, face gone blank like I dumped a bucket of ice on him. “Sorry.”

“But I do want it,” I say, before he can spiral, taking his hand and guiding it to where I’m aching under my boxers. “I want you.”

Just hearing those words does something to him. Xavier leans in to kiss me again, tongue parting my lips, his hand squeezing my cock—and I moan, the pressure breaking whatever restraint I had left.

“You’re so hard,” he whispers, fingers slipping under the waistband of my boxers, finding me. “I’ll be gentle.”

I let out a shaky breath, head tipping back. “Xavier…”

His hand wraps around me, thumb dragging over the head, spreading pre-cum. My hips twitch—reflexive—and he hums, pleased I’m already starting to lose it. His strokes are careful, not too tight—focused, like he’s making sure it feels good without putting strain on my leg.

I glance down—watch his hand move over me—then back at Xavier. His lashes low, mouth parted, completely focused. Like he’s studying what wrecks me most.

Then he pauses. Pulls away. I almost protest—but he reaches into the bedside drawer and pulls out a bottle of lube.

Fuck. The fact that Xavier Ormond keeps that within reach undoes me in a whole new way.

I watch him squirt a generous amount into his palm, then rub his hands together to warm it. When he wraps that slick hand around me again, it’s so good I can’t even imagine what his mouth would feel like. I let out a ragged breath.

“Is it your leg?” he asks, glancing up, worried.

“No,” I breathe. “It’s just—really fucking good.”

Xavier huffs a quiet laugh, then kisses me again, his hand still working in that slow, maddening rhythm. The wet sound of lube around my cock is obscene, and his tongue teases mine like he’s showing off what else it can do.

My cock’s throbbing. I’m so close I can barely breathe. I gasp, hips twitching—but Xavier instantly slows down, keeping me right there on the edge. Just enough to make me ache, not enough to push me over.

“Xavier—”