Page 197 of Detectives in Love
He looks so flustered, so caught that it’s ridiculously endearing. I can’t help it. I laugh. “I’m joking. Come here.”
Xavier crawls over the bed and leans over me but doesn’t close the distance, hovering with restraint.
“We need to order food first,” he murmurs, voice rough. “You need to eat.”
I glance down—he’s leaking, straining; his cock twitches like it hurts to hold back. Every muscle in him is pulled tight, the effort obvious.
“We can order after,” I say, reaching for him. “Come here. Please.”
He shakes his head, lips pressed thin. “I don’t want you passing out on me. Not after everything.”
A laugh slips out of me—because God, how can I be this stupidly happy. “I think you’ll be the one passing out if this isn’t taken care of.” I tip my eyes to his cock. “So come here.”
He doesn’t move. His whole body looks locked, caught between want and control.
I roll onto my stomach. My face sinks into the sheets as I lift my hips, bold enough to spike my pulse. Shameless. I know exactly what he sees.
He curses under his breath.
Then his teeth are on me. I gasp when he bites the curve of my ass—sharp enough to jolt me—then heat floods through me as he licks the sting and bites again, slower this time, his tongue following in a wet press that makes me shudder.
“Xavier—” My voice breaks on his name. “Wait—”
It sounds weak even to me, because I’m already arching into him, caught between embarrassment and the way my cock twitches against the bed. I’m painfully aware of the position I’m in, of how exposed I am. Self-conscious, yes—but gone all the same.
He spreads me open with both hands, and before I can brace for what’s coming, I feel the hot slick of his tongue slide between my cheeks.
My whole body tenses; a moan rips out of me before I can stop it.
He drags his tongue up, then down again—broader now, the pressure firmer. My cock jerks against the sheets, already hard again. I fist the sheets, trying to hold still and failing as every pass makes me writhe.
He circles my hole, teasing, then laps at it, moaning like he’s tasting dessert. Each flick pulls a groan out of me and makes my hips push back for more.
Then he presses in. His tongue breaches me—just the tip, just enough to rip a cry from my throat.
“Fuck, Xavier—”
I bury my face in the pillow, helpless, as he pulls out and sinks in again, deeper this time. My thighs tremble. My cock drags over the sheets, leaving wet streaks I can feel but can’t bring myself to care about.
He works me open with his tongue, thrust after thrust, the rhythm obscene and overwhelming and still not deep enough. I’m shaking, panting, incoherent—a mess of heat and want.
Then the cool slick of lube hits. He squeezes it straight over my hole, lets it spill, and works it in with circling strokes that pull a gasp out of me.
His long finger slides in—past the rim, down to the knuckle in one smooth push. The stretch steals my breath, thicker, heavier than his tongue, so I breathe and let myself open to it.
“Xavier—” It comes out wrecked as my chest sinks into the mattress. My body grips around him, greedy, impatience shaking through me while I picture his cock pushing in.
I look back over my shoulder. His face is intent, almost reverent, like he can’t believe I’m giving him this—still careful even as he’s finger-fucking me open.
“Fuck me, Xavier,” I beg, voice breaking. “Please. I want to feel you inside me.”
He meets my eyes, the corner of his mouth curling. “I need to prepare you first. Does that hurt?”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head.
He eases a second finger in, slick with lube. The stretch bites sharper this time. I gasp and my hips jerk.
Xavier stills, watching me.
