Page 196 of Detectives in Love
I groan, my hands finding his hair, fingers twisting in the strands just to hold on. I can’t stop moving—my hips start rolling up into him, shallow at first, then deeper.
And he lets me. He fucking lets me.
I’m fucking his throat now—desperate, falling apart, moaning like I’ve got no control left. Because I don’t. I’m close, everything too hot, too tight—
“Xavier—wait,” I gasp, trying to pull him back. “I’m gonna come—”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t flinch. Is he even breathing?
My thighs tremble. I try to pull back, but he holds me steady, lips sealed, throat flexing around me as he takes me deeper again.
I cry out as it hits me—everything spilling over at once. I come hard, hips jerking, buried deep in his throat while he swallows around me like he fucking needs it.
By the time I stop shaking, I’m spent, too sensitive to take this any longer. That’s when he finally lets go. He pulls back, panting, and I see it—cum on his chin, smeared across his lips. He wipes at it with the back of his hand, looking up at me.
Wrecked.
Filthy.
Beautiful.
I’m still catching my breath, blinking up at the ceiling like I forgot how to exist—body wrecked, skin buzzing.
But when I glance down, I see how hard he still is.
He’s just kneeling there, flushed, his cock straining between his legs, still looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
“Come here,” I whisper, reaching for him. “Please.”
He climbs up beside me and lies on his side, his thigh brushing against mine. I’m still half-gone, and he knows it—so he just lies there, not rushing me, just watching.
It takes me a second to catch up—to my own body, to what he just did, to this sudden closeness.
“My legs are shaking,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
Xavier chuckles and presses a kiss to my cheek. I turn my head and kiss him on the mouth instead. It starts soft, but it doesn’t stay that way.
His lips part under mine, and I taste myself on him. He pulls me deeper, tongue sliding in, making me lightheaded.
I wrap my hand around his cock, and he shudders, a curse falling from his lips. “Fuck.”
He breaks the kiss, eyes dropping to where my hand is working him. I stroke, slow. He groans—eyes half-lidded, breathing shallow.
“Do you…” I start, suddenly awkward. “Do you have condoms?”
He nods, already pushing up. He crosses to the wardrobe—hard and gorgeous, like a Greek god—and takes out a box, then grabs a bottle of lube from the bedside table.
Seeing the condoms in his hand, I feel a sharp, needling pang of jealousy. I don’t want to ask why he has them. Don’t want to wonder who he used them with.
Then he peels off the plastic wrap, and I realize it’s a new box.
Relief floods through me. I know Xavier isn’t a virgin—no one gives head like that without serious practice—but it still comforts me more than I want to admit.
He looks up and catches me watching. Then, as if he can read my mind, he says, “I…bought them last night.” His cheeks go pink.
“When I was dying in the hospital?” I deadpan.
He freezes, his blush deepening, not sure if I’m joking. “That was when I—uh—knew you were okay,” he rushes out. “I bought them just in case.”
