Page 18 of My Freshman Mate
"Braiden," I start, my voice rough. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," he interrupts, his hands already on the button of my jeans. His fingers tremble slightly, but his gaze is unwavering. "I want to make you feel good. Like you made me feel good."
Fuck.
I lift my hips, helping him slide my jeans and boxers down my thighs. My cock springs free, already hard and leaking slick against my stomach. Braiden's eyes widen at the sight, a mixture of intimidation and fierce determination crossing his face. For a moment, he just stares, his lips parted.
He looks up at me through his lashes, his voice a low command that undoes me. "Show me. How to take care of you."
Those words nearly fucking end me on the spot. I grab the couch cushions instead of him, fisting the fabric to keep from taking over, forcing myself to let him set the pace.
"Start slow," I manage, my voice barely recognizable. "Use your hand first. Get a feel for it."
A shiver runs through him, and his expression hardens with commitment. He reaches out, his slender fingers hovering for a second before wrapping around my shaft. When his skin touches mine, electricity shoots up my spine. He strokes experimentally, his grip tentative at first. He's clearly never done this before. But he's watching my face, taking notes with those smart eyes, and when I let out a low groan, his grip tightens with newfound confidence.
My breath hitches. "That's it," I rasp. "Just like that."
The sight of him, so focused, so intent on my pleasure, is the most erotic thing I've ever experienced. He leans closer, his breath hot against the head of my cock.
"Can I...?" he asks, his question trailing off as he licks the tip hesitantly, like a kitten tasting cream for the first time.
"Yes," I growl, a jolt shooting straight through my body. "God, yes."
Emboldened, he takes the head into my mouth. The wet heat is incredible. It's so much softer, wetter, than I could have imagined. But he's clumsy, inexperienced. His teeth scrape against me, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send asharp, shocking thrill through my nerves. I hiss, my hips bucking instinctively.
He pulls back, his eyes wide with panic. "Sorry! Did I—"
"No," I cut him off, my voice a low rumble. I tangle my hand in his dark, silky hair, not pushing, but just holding him, connecting with him. "Don't be sorry. It felt good."
He looks uncertain, but the praise seems to steady him.
"Look at me," I command gently. He does, his mahogany eyes searching. "I want to feel your mouth on me, little mate. But I want you to enjoy it, too. Relax your jaw. Use your lips, your tongue. Think of it like you're tasting me."
A dark blush spreads across his cheeks, but he nods, understanding the instruction. He leans in again, slower this time. He licks a slow, wet stripe up the side of my shaft, and this time when he takes me into his mouth, his lips are soft, shielding me from his teeth. The suction is incredible. A low, guttural moan rips from my chest, and I see the effect it has on him. His pupils dilate, his scent sweetening with arousal. He likes this. He likes making me lose control.
He tries to take more of me, his throat working. He gags slightly, a small, choked sound, and pulls back, coughing, his face flushed with embarrassment.
"It's okay," I say, my grip in his hair tightening just enough to be reassuring. "You're perfect. Let me see you." I guide his head up so I can see his face. His eyes are shining with frustration. "You're trying so hard for me. Fuck, it's incredible. Don't you dare stop."
My praise works like a charm. The shame in his eyes is replaced by a fierce, renewed determination.
"Deeper," I growl, my voice dropping. "I want to feel you take me all the way down your throat. Just once. Can you do that for your alpha?"
His eyes darken at the command, a shiver running through him. He dives back in, committed. He pushes past the initial gag reflex, his throat muscles fluttering around the thickest part of me. My vision whites out for a second.
"Fuck, Braiden," I groan, my hips arching off the couch. "That's it. Use your throat for me."
He moans around me, a wet, guttural sound that vibrates down my cock and makes my hips buck again. My fingers tighten in his hair, not forcing, but guiding him now, showing him the rhythm I need, a slow, deep pull that has my balls aching.
My voice is pure gravel. "God, you feel so good."
He works me with a surprising skill he didn't have two minutes ago, his hand covering what his mouth can't take, his eyes never leaving mine. Every moan, every shared look makes this hotter. But as good as it feels—and holy fuck, does it feel good—it's not enough. I need more. I need all of him.
"Come here," I growl, my voice raw, tugging him up. "Need you closer."
He releases me with a wet pop, his lips swollen and red, his eyes glazed with arousal. I pull him back into my lap, my hands already on his clothes. We undress each other with frantic urgency, a clumsy tangle of limbs and fabric, pausing only for heated, open-mouthed kisses and wandering hands that learn the shape of each other.
When he's finally naked, straddling my thighs again, I can smell his arousal—sweet and musky and so fucking perfect. He's already wet for me, slick gathering at his entrance, his body preparing itself for me without him even trying.
