He pushes, walking me backward, hands guiding my hips as he leads me around to the front of the couch. He doesn’t even need to pull me down with him. The second he folds himself down into the sofa, I straddle his waist, capturing his mouth in a slow kiss. He’s already hard and eager beneath me, and something inside me swells with pride that I’m able to arouse him so easily. His fingers thread in my hair, tugging me close to deepen the kiss. I think maybe he missed me, too.
He tucks his hand beneath the hoodie, fingertips cold on my belly and making me squirm, grinding down on his erection. He groans into my mouth, hips pushing up into me. His lips roam, sucking, licking. The flicker of an idea, of a want, tickles at my brain. I act before I talk myself out of it and ease off his lap.
“Where are you going?” He pouts.
I push at his chest. “Stay still.”
He does, watching me carefully as I drop to my knees and bend forward. I reach for his waistband. His eyebrow rises, accentuating the angle of his face sharp in the shadowy room. His hand stills mine. “Gwendolyn.”
I look into his eyes. “Yes?”
His eyes tighten, searching mine. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.” I wriggle my hand out of his grip. His abs tense when I dig my thumb beneath the waistband of his jeans, popping the button and lowering his zipper. “Don’t worry, this isn’t about your bullshit test. I’m not auditioning to be your girlfriend.” I reach into his pants and feel him, his cock warm and hard. I pull it free and look. It looks bigger from here, almost intimidating. I tentatively stroke down the surprisingly soft, taut skin. I look back at him again and he’s got his head pressed back into the couch, dark eyes watching me, mouth parted. His eyes seem conflicted, like he’s caught in some battle between his mind and his hormones.
He runs his fingers along my cheek, thumb pulling at my bottom lip. His cock pulses in my hand. “You get that there isn’t a test, right? It is bullshit. Campbell made it up, it’s not...” He wets his lips, squirming. “I don’t actually do that.”
I’m not sure why he tells me this. To get it off his chest? To make himself look better? It doesn’t change anything for me.
“Let me do this,” I say quietly, running my hand down his shaft. “You did it for me.”
His jaw tightens, but he drops his hand, eyes heavy and watchful. I stroke him a few more times, getting used to the weight of him in my hand, adjusting to the sound of his breathing, and the way he slowly relaxes.
“Is this okay?” I ask, shifting.
“Fuck yes,” he mumbles. “Harder is okay, too. It won’t break, Gwendolyn.”
Although he’d been the one begging for me to say his name, I’m surprised to discover how much I love hearing mine come from his lips. I tighten my grip and run my thumb over the tip. His fingers curl into fists against the couch and I repeat the motion, feeling a bit more confident.
“Take off your top?” he asks, chest moving with slow, shallow breaths. “I want to see your tits.”
His mouth his filthy, and he’s bossy as hell, but I don’t really mind. I do as he asks, pulling the hoodie shirt over my head in one go. His eyes grow heavier as he takes me in, reaching out and running a finger over the lacy strap of my bra. “Blue. Thought you left this one at school.”
“Are you checking my underwear drawer?” I laugh, and he smiles in reply, cock bobbing between us. “I had another at home.”
I reach for him again, but this time I work up the courage to lean over his lap and take a careful lick at the tip.
He shudders beneath me, hissing out a low, strained, “Fuck, shit.”
I can’t help my smile, because there’s nothing I like better than getting a rise out of him, and apparently that extends to far more than just fighting. Bolstered by this, I don’t hesitate to put my mouth all the way over him, slowly taking him in my mouth.
I can hear his head falling back, his breaths growing more strained as his hand shoots out to clutch my shoulder. I experiment a little, sucking with my lips, licking with my tongue, careful to keep my teeth out of the equation. I can’t tell what he likes better—the slow, tongue-laving strokes, or the quick, hard-sucking bobs. I get the feeling if I asked him, the answer might just be ‘yes’.
It’s not long before I feel the tremble in his thighs. His hips keep making these small, aborted jerks, as if he wants to thrust into my mouth but is holding back, restraining himself. I don’t protest when his hand winds into my hair, cupped against my skull, not guiding, but just resting there, thumb rubbing against my temple.
Eventually, his breath catches, and he starts going rigid. “Fuck, Gwen, I’m going to come. If you don’t want…”
I should release him, but our eyes connect, and the strangest wave of intimacy washes over me. I do want, I think, sucking a little harder, feeling him losing control. He groans loudly and holds my gaze as he comes into my mouth, eyes little more than two lazy slits as he watches himself pulse, salty and warm, between my lips. For a second, I think I can’t do it, I can’t take it, but I do, swallowing quickly, thoroughly.
He watches the whole thing and my face heats, feeling exposed and weirdly shy for someone who just sucked a dick. But he tucks himself back into his pants and pulls me off the floor, guiding me back into his lap.
“Jesus, Adams,” he breathes, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to my lips, my neck, between my breasts. His mouth twists into a grin against my collarbone. “That was unexpected.”
“We’re back to last names?” I ask, tugging at the hair at the back of his neck.
“Absolutely not.” He kisses my sore, swollen lips again and laughs. “And for the record, I was serious about there not being a test, but if there was one? You not only passed it, you fucking aced it.”
I have no idea why that makes me happy, why any of this makes me happy, including Hamilton himself, but it does. He does.