You Finish Him Of

His breathing gets heavier, his hips making small, involuntary movements into your hand now. You keep the pace slow, the glide smooth, just enough to keep him teetering without pushing him over too soon.

You watch his face — the way his eyes half-close, his jaw tightens, his lips part on a quiet exhale. That little sound he makes when he’s right on the edge sends a shiver through you.

“Still thinking about it?” you murmur, your thumb brushing over the sensitive tip.

“Yeah…” His voice is rough now. “And you. Lying there… all quiet… touching yourself in the dark.”

Your grip tightens slightly, your strokes deepening. You feel him thicken in your hand, the weight shifting with each movement. His breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling faster.

“Tom…” you whisper, feeling his thigh tense under your knee as you shift closer.

And then he’s groaning low in his throat, hips jerking forward as the first hot pulse spills into your hand. You keep the motion gentle but steady, milking the last waves out of him, feeling the warmth coat your fingers.

You ease your hand away slowly, letting him catch his breath.

He blinks at you, still dazed, before a lazy smile creeps across his face. “You are trouble,” he murmurs, pulling you in until your head rests on his shoulder.

You wipe your hand discreetly on the tissue you keep in the drawer, then curl into him. His arm is heavy and warm around you, the faint thud of his heartbeat steady against your cheek.

For a few minutes, neither of you says anything. Just the sound of the heating ticking in the background, the muffled quiet of the house at night.

Then he kisses the top of your head. “You’ll have to tell me the rest of that fantasy another time.”

You smile against his skin. “Maybe.”