But there was no other word for the sensation. Grayson’s mouth was hot and demanding. His tongue was cleverly swirling and stroking. Within monts of contact, Neville was reduced to a writhing, gasping ss against the expensive sheets.
"Gray—Grayson—I’m going to—"
His bound hands tangled uselessly in dark hair, but were well-received as Grayson groan of approval. Neville was pushed to the edge as he gripped Grayson’s hair tightly.
"Let go," Grayson commanded, and the world went white.
"Fuck—"
He ca with a cry he couldn’t quite muffle, his whole body seizing as pleasure whited out his vision. Wave after wave crashed through him, pulled along by Grayson’s mouth, which didn’t stop until Neville was boneless and trembling on the ruined sheets.
Neville couldn’t tell anymore, couldn’t think anymore. Even through the fog of sensation, he could see Grayson’s fascinated eyes. It was the hottest thing Neville had ever seen.
When he ca back to himself, gasping and trembling, Grayson was watching him with doting tenderness. His lips were slick and swollen. He ran his tongue over them slowly, deliberately, catching every trace of what Neville had spilled.
"You have no idea," Grayson murmured against the sensitive skin, "how long I’ve wanted to do this."
"Do—do what, exactly?" he asked dimly, as his brain struggled to co back online through the haze of pleasure.
Grayson answered by leaning against his thighs. The montary gentleness in his eyes sharpened again with hunger. With a patience that seed impossible for a man in the grip of rut, his tongue traced along the skin of his thighs with reverence.
"Grayson!"
The sound that escaped him was embarrassingly close to a wail.
His bound hands twisted, instinctively trying to reach again for the dark head hovering over his body. But the movent only made the necktie pull tighter, and the restriction sohow made everything more intense.
Kisses were pressed against his inner thigh. At first, it was soft, then it beca more insistent. To his knee, to the curve of his calf, he kissed it, leaving light bites over it.
"There," Grayson said with unmistakable satisfaction, surveying the red mark blooming against his pale skin. "Mine."
"You—wait—" Neville’s protest was cut short by a gasp as Grayson made another mark, lower this ti.
"I—" he managed, though his body was saying the opposite, straining toward the source of heat and sensation.
Then another.
"You can’t—that’s—"
And another.
"Can’t what?" Grayson’s breath ghosted over sensitive flesh.
The words hung in the air between them.
Grayson continued to mark his thighs like a ritual.
And the worst part was how much Neville liked it.
I’m so screwed.
Grayson’s biceps flexed as he repositioned himself, the movent catching Neville’s attention. The muscles rippled under scaled and unscaled skin alike, a display of restrained power that made Neville’s mouth go dry.
Those powerful arms were now holding his wobbly legs with care. He lifted both of Neville’s legs, pushing them up and apart, and—
Neville’s blood ran cold.
Everything was out on display for Grayson’s hungry silver gaze. He saw Grayson’s mouth move lower, and Neville had another ntal breakdown.
"No—" The word ca out broken, half-strangled by panic.
Neville tried to close his legs, to squirm away, but Grayson’s grip was iron and his own body was still weak from climax. His eyes burned, and before he could stop it, moisture was spilling down his cheeks.
He is crying.
When had he started crying?
Grayson froze, his hands stilled on Neville’s thighs.
When Neville managed to focus through the blur of tears he hadn’t realized were falling, he saw Grayson staring at him with an expression of dawning horror. His silver eyes that had been hazed with lust snapped into sudden, startling clarity.
"Vee." His voice cracked on the nickna. "You’re crying."
What’s up with that weird nickna? He thought, but couldn’t say out loud.
His throat had closed up, and all he could do was shake his head frantically, his bound hands trembling where they had fallen against his chest.
"Why are you crying?" Grayson’s voice sounded strange as he tenderly wiped his tears away. "Vee, tell ."
"It’s fine." It wasn’t fine. Nothing about this situation was fine. "I’m fine."
Grayson released his legs as they burned him. He pulled back so fast that Neville felt the absence of his warmth, leaving him feeling empty.
"I’m sorry. Please, don’t cry."
The sight of Grayson looking utterly devastated managed to calm Neville’s panic more effectively than any calming technique could.
"I do want," Neville heard himself say. "I just... not that. Not yet."
Grayson looked at Neville directly in the eyes.
"You don’t want inside you?"
The blunt question should have been utterly embarrassing. Instead, it cald sothing inside Neville.
"No," he said, then winced at how harsh it sounded. "I an—it’s not that I don’t want—I just—"
"Tell ." Grayson’s voice was rough but patient. Even now, even with bloodshot eyes that clearly held back with his everything, he was still trying so hard to understand. "You have to tell for to understand."
Neville swallowed hard and forced himself to et Grayson’s eyes, to speak past the tightness in his chest.
"I’m not ready. It’s too... fast." He broke off, struggling to find words for feelings he’d never had to articulate before. "If we go that far, I won’t be able to take it back. And I—"
"Ask again when you’re sober." He took a shuddering breath. "I need to know that when we do this—if we do this—it’s because we both chose it. Not because of rut or heat or pheromones or any of that. When you’re you. And if you still want this, then..."
Grayson was quiet for a long mont. The scales on his shoulders had spread further, creeping up his neck, edging along his jaw. His hands beside Neville’s legs had developed claws at the fingertips—dark and sharp and dangerous.
He was losing control.
Neville thought that Grayson would lose his mind like in the assembly room.
Then, slowly, he saw Grayson sitting back on his heels. But when he spoke, his words were careful.
"I promise."
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