Page 93 of The Puck Contract

"Ansel," he says, my name barely audible over the rush of water.

"Hmm?" I press closer, letting him feel exactly what he's doing to me, my erection sliding against the cleft of his ass.

He reaches back, hand finding my hip, pulling me closer still. "Don't stop."

The raw need in his voice breaks something loose in me. I spin him around, pressing him against the shower wall, claiming his mouth in a kiss that has nothing gentle about it. He responds immediately, arms wrapping around my neck, body arching into mine.

"Wanted you the second you walked in," I whisper against his throat, hands sliding down to grip his thighs. "Always want you."

He moans as I suck a mark into the sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder, his hips bucking against mine in a desperate search for friction. "Then have me."

Two simple words that set my blood on fire. I drop to my knees on the shower floor, the hard tile unforgiving against my skin, but I couldn't care less. Not when Mateo is looking down at me with wide, shocked eyes, lips parted.

I press my face against his stomach, the muscles jumping beneath my lips as I work my way lower. His cock is hard and flushed, jutting proudly from the nest of dark hair at the base. I ignore it for now, instead focusing on the sensitive crease where thigh meets pelvis, sucking another mark there that pulls a strangled sound from his throat.

"Fuck," he gasps, fingers threading through my wet hair.

I look up, searching his face as I take him in hand, giving him one firm stroke from base to tip. His head falls back against the tile with a thud, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation.

"Look at me," I say softly. "I want you to watch."

His eyes fly open, locking with mine as I lean in and lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock. The sound he makes, trapped somewhere between a moan and a sob echoes off the shower walls, spurring me on. I take just the head into my mouth, sucking gently, tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge.

"Fuck," he chokes out. "That's—god—"

I hum in acknowledgment, the vibration making him jerk against my hold. Slowly, I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks as I go, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

Once I've taken as much as I can comfortably manage, I pull back, establishing a rhythm that has his thighs trembling beneath my hands. Each bob of my head pulls another desperate sound from him, each flick of my tongue against the sensitive spot just under the head makes his fingers tighten in my hair.

"Not gonna last," he warns, voice tight with restraint. "Too good."

I pull off with an obscene sound, replacing my mouth with my hand, stroking him firmly as I catch my breath. "That's the idea."

Before he can respond, I duck lower, tongue finding his balls, drawing one gently into my mouth. His entire body jolts, a string of curses falling from his lips that would make Becker proud. I lavish attention on first one, then the other, all while maintaining the steady stroke of my hand on his cock.

"Ansel—fuck—I can't—"

I release him, looking up with a grin. "Can't what? Take more pleasure? Because I think you can."

His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wild with need. "What are you—"

"Turn around," I instruct, rising to my feet. "Hands on the wall."

For a moment, I think he might refuse. Then, with a shaky exhale, he turns to face the shower wall, hands braced against the tile. The position pushes his ass out, presenting it to me in a way that makes my mouth water.

"Perfect." I press a kiss between his shoulder blades. "Trust me?"

He nods jerkily, tension radiating from every line of his body.

I drop to my knees again, hands sliding up the back of his thighs to his ass, kneading the firm muscle there. Slowly, giving him time to anticipate, I spread him open, revealing the tight pucker of his hole.

"Ansel," he says, voice tight. "What are you—"

His question dissolves into a shout as I lean in and lick a firm stripe over his entrance. His whole body goes rigid, hands slipping against the wet tile as he struggles to stay upright.

"Holy fuck," he gasps, the words barely audible over the shower. "What—that's—"

I don't let him recover, diving back in with focused intent. I trace circles around his rim, feeling the muscle flutter beneath my tongue, before pressing more firmly against the center. Each pass of my tongue pulls another broken sound from him, his body caught somewhere between trying to escape the sensation and pushing back for more.

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