Ian bowed up off the bed, forgetting he was being playful, and I curled forward, pulling the head of his long, beautiful cock into my mouth.
“Miro,” he rasped, hands in my hair, tugging, pushing up, trying to bury himself, the hitching of his breath and the gasps and whimpers letting me know how much more he needed.
I sucked hard as I took him all the way to the back of my throat in one swallow, letting him feel the wet heat a moment before lifting, working my tongue over his head, dragging it over every inch and then lowering, slowly, drawing out his pleasure until my lips were at his base and I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze.
“Fuck, lookit your face,” he mewled, jolting under me, his breath catching, causing me to smile because I was doing that to him. “Killin’ me.”
I lifted my mouth free, grinning before licking over the still-leaking head.
“Jesus, Miro, when you smile like that—just suck my dick.” The hoarse request, guttural, up from his chest, was very sexy.
I waggled my eyebrows.
“Awww fuck, please,” he begged, the tone plaintive, strangled.
Leaning forward, I swallowed him to the root again before slowly, purposely sucking hard, making the suction so strong he caught his breath, and then laving and licking around and under the head, nibbling the side, tracing the thick vein before repeating the same slick, hot, downward slide that left him buried in the back of my throat.
“Holy God, your mouth should be illegal,” he moaned, hand tangled in my hair, holding tight, making sure I couldn’t pull away or stop.
He lifted his right leg, bending at the knee, giving me access, and I slipped a finger into my mouth beside his cock and got it wet and dripping. As I bobbed my head, causing his breath to stop and start, I gently, tenderly, slid my finger into his ass.
“Oh, you—fuck!” he roared, pulling away like I’d burned him, rolling fast to his stomach, head down, fisting the blankets in his hands as he lifted his ass in the air.
I had found recently that with being married came new depths to my sex life. It was like the ring signaled he could ask for all the things he really wanted but had maybe thought, without the commitment of marriage, might freak me out. It was ridiculous, very behind-closed-doors kind of thinking, but I was thankful because it was another layer of trust Ian shared only with me.
“Miro,” he husked, opening his legs wider, shivering with anticipation, “now.”
Ian loved being rimmed, and I more than enjoyed doing it to him, and though I knew it got him hot, I’d had no idea he could come simply from my tongue in his ass. It was, he’d confessed once while we lay in bed, hot and dirty and not something he ever even imagined he’d like before the first time I spread his cheeks and speared inside of him.
The revelation went hand in hand with knowing that while Ian loved to fuck me, loved holding me down, pushing inside, feeling my satiny heat hold him like a vise—more than that, he craved me in him. Being taken and used, having me pound his ass, turned Ian inside out. And he was gibbering, a word now and then making sense, but mostly just there, ready for me, waiting and wanting.
I pushed down on his ass, flattening him on the bed, and then bent over to kiss my way down his spine.
His aching, frustrated groan made me grin as I kissed and nibbled and licked. There was no way I could not worship the beauty that was Ian Doyle. His heavily scarred back, the corded muscles rippling under his warm, sleek skin, was a work of art. When I pressed my chest to his bare back, he growled at me, and I nipped his shoulder.
“Worship me later, fuck me now,” he snarled, turning his head, thrashing under me but knowing better than to try to flip me to my back. I had more leverage from where I was, and he didn’t actually want me to move, anyway.
“Something else you want first?”
“Miro,” he rasped.
Lifting off him, shifting sideways, I watched the decadent sight of Ian lifting to his hands and knees, head hanging between his shoulders, waiting for me like some gorgeous, erotic piece of sculpture.
“Look at you,” I said, rolling off the bed and walking to the nightstand, where I retrieved the lube, staring at him, all carved and chiseled muscle, face flushed, biting his lip as he stared at me with dark, narrowed eyes. I couldn’t even see any blue there, just blown pupils and need. He was trembling with it.
Climbing back onto the bed, I dropped the lube and then ran my hands down his sides, tracing ribs, over his flanks, squeezing his powerful thighs before sliding my hands up the backs, higher, to his ass.