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And yet, I do see him. Deadly storms aside, Oscar’s life is orderly in the way it has to be. Control. Discipline. It takes effort to give that up. To place your fate in someone else’s hands, even if it’s just for however long it takes me to blow him⁠—

That’s not what he’s asking for.

The blowing part. New, remember?

By now, Oscar’s on his back, while I lie on my side, facing him. I kiss him, like I have so many times, but it feels different now. As though whatever’s between us is surging to life more than ever.

I grasp his hips, sliding him down the bed and tipping his pelvis. His eyes flare with curious anticipation and I deepen the kiss, claiming every scrap of oxygen from his lungs before I pull back. “Take my hand.”

He obeys without question, twining our fingers together.

“This is your safe word,” I explain. “If you want me to stop.”

Oscar doesn’t tell me that won’t happen. He nods and presses his forehead to mine, his gaze unguarded and gorgeous, and I swear to god, I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want him.

With his hand safely in mine, I manoeuvre myself down his body, pausing at every tremor rippling through his strong frame. Every shiver. The distant rumble as he realises where I’m going with this and what I’m about to do to him.

I wish I could see his face.

I’m almost glad I can’t as my tongue snakes out and flutters over him and my eyes roll with how good this feels for me.

I fuck him with my tongue. So gently at first, but as he relaxes and props himself up on his elbows so he can watch me, my caution ebbs away.

He likes this.

He likes it a lot.

And so I go harder, gripping his dick in my fist as his thighs tremble and the sounds he makes feel loud. Sweat coats his skin. I look up and bewildered wonder sits heavy in his eyes, his jaw loose as he murmurs words I don’t know the shape of.

Lithuanian words.

His dick throbs in my palm. I tighten my grip around him. Then I let go and drag my slick fingers lower, squeezing his hand to remind him how to stop me if it gets too much.

Drawing back to ask him, with actual words, if my fingers inside him is something he wants.

But Oscar…he doesn’t wait for me to speak.

He widens his legs, curling one over my shoulder. “Do it. I want it.”

And so I give it to him. Carefully, until he’s as chill as he was with my mouth. I fuck him more, with fingers slick with the lube I retrieve from a box under the bed, and I revel in every second of it. Every breath, every shift beneath my hands, as he watches me until the need to understand begins to slip away.

His eyes drift shut.

His head falls back to the pillow. The stress of the outside world fades and a sweeter tension bands his muscles as every drive of my fingers goes straight to his dick.

I’m so wound up watching him like this. That sense of pure trust surges inside me again and I can’t look away from him, but it’s more than the heat coiled in my stomach. More than desire and pleasure, and the relief I’ll be begging for when this is over.

He’s close.

I drag my tongue along the length of him.

Oscar’s eyes fly open and he locks his gaze on me, and though my pulse kicks harder than ever, I’m captivated by the rise and fall of his tattooed chest. The way his throat works as another layer of surrender washes over him.

I curl my fingers.

He squeezes my hand, but it’s not stop. I know it, because I know him. Because his tortured body and hot gaze speak to me clearer than any words ever could, and suddenly the connection between us is almost unbearable.

There’s no space here tonight.