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He picks up the vanilla syrup from the counter and takes a long swig.

Then he cups my jaw in his hand, tilts my face up to his, and parts my lips with his thumb.

He spits the syrup from his mouth into mine, slow and deliberate, a warm stream of sweetness that pools on my tongue.

“Show me,” he says, watching my face with dark attention. “Let it roll over your tongue. Don’t swallow.”

I keep my lips parted for him, anchored in the moment by his hand holding my jaw.

Zevran groans as he watches the syrup spreading over my tongue.

“Good girl.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “Now take me in your mouth. Nice and slow.”

I wrap my lips around his girth and suck him slowly, his salty taste mingling with the sweetness of the vanilla.

The sound he makes is low and involuntary, and it goes straight through me. I take him deeper, wanting more of him, wanting to pull every unguarded sound out of him that I can.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Khristos, your mouth.”

I take him deeper, testing, and his grip tightens in my hair, controlled but not painful.

“Look at me,” he demands.

I look up, still sucking up and down his length.

His jaw is tight. His eyes are dark. He looks like a man holding himself at the edge of something by sheer will.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking your mouth since the first time you opened it to argue with me,” he says. His voice is rough, the sardonic edge stripped raw. “I’ve been thinking about fucking your tight little throat since the motel.”

I take him deeper still, and he exhales hard.

“That’s it,” he says, his hands guiding now, tilting me to the angle he wants. “Let me in. Relax that pretty throat for me.”

As I breathe out through my nose, he pushes deeper and holds me like that, his fingers thrust into my hair and holding my head tight by the scalp.

He pulls out, and I have the chance to take a breath, before he pushes deeper, thrusting past the tight ring of muscle at the back of my throat. I feel a pop.

My eyes water.

“Good girl. Fuck.” His voice has dropped to barely above a murmur, rough and dark and entirely focused on me. “Take my hand if you want to stop. Can I keep going, printsessa?”

I nod. I’ve never felt like this before during sex. Fully present in my own body and so turned on there’s a fierce ache between my thighs.

“Then eyes on me. Keep them on me.”

I hold his gaze. My vision blurs at the edges with the effort of it, tears spilling down my cheeks, and I watch his expression change, something savage moving through it, his jaw tightening, his grip in my hair pulling tighter. His cock is heavy and hot on my tongue, and I swallow around him, feeling the shudder that moves through his whole body.

“Bozhe moy.” The words come out ragged as he eases back. “Look at you.”

I drag air in through my nose, my tongue tracing the underside of him while I breathe, tasting salt and vanilla and him.

“Now all of me.”

I make a noise of disbelief around him. He can’t be serious. There is simply more of him than there is of me.

His dark laugh tells me he heard the noise. “Yes, you can. Want me to show you?”

I nod as much as I can in his grip.