International Manwhore – Part 14

Everyone in this story is 18+

I opened my mouth to answer, some cocky line I’d rehearsed in the mirror about how I was going to ruin him for every way he liked, but the words died the second Adrien’s hand found my thigh under the water.

He didn’t ask permission. He just slid closer, water sloshing, until his chest brushed mine and his palm glided up the inside of my leg with the confidence of someone who’d mapped this exact territory years ago. His fingers closed around my cock (slow, proprietary) and gave one long, lazy stroke that dragged a broken sound out of me before I could stop it.

How was this dude described as liking cocky guys when his confidence makes even me feel like a schoolgirl around him?

I tried saying anything, but…

“Shh,” he breathed against my jaw, lips barely grazing skin. “Let me.”

My earpiece crackled once, a burst of static from the steam, then went dead. Leona’s voice, Asher’s dry commentary, the entire outside world—gone, not that I cared.Now I just heard the low hum of the jets and the wet sound of his hand moving under the water.

He started gentle (thumb circling the head,) then tightened his grip exactly the way I like it without ever being told. I tried to kiss him, to take back some control, but he tilted his head just out of reach and sank lower instead.

The first warm swirl of his tongue around the head punched the air from my lungs. The second had my hips jerking up, water splashing over the edge. By the third I was gripping the rim of the jacuzzi so hard my knuckles went white.

Adrien took my dick deeper, slow and relentless, lips sealing tight, cheeks hollowing. He didn’t bob or rush—he just held me in the wet heat of his mouth and swirled, a low, filthy vibration that shot straight to the base of my spine. Then he sank all the way down in one smooth glide until his nose pressed against my pelvis and stayed there.

I felt my eyes roll back. He wasn’t breathing. He was just… holding me in his throat, swallowing around the head in tiny pulses that made my thighs shake. My brain shorted out trying to count—one Mississippi, two Mississippi—until time lost meaning.

When he finally came up it was only an inch, just enough to suck in a silent breath through his nose, eyes locked on mine, water streaming down his face like some kind of sea god. Then he dove again, deeper, faster, one hand cupping my balls and rolling them gently while the other braced against my hip to keep me from thrusting too hard.

I lost track of how many times he did that—down until his throat fluttered shut in pleasure, up for the tiniest sip of air, down again. My entire universe narrowed to the slick drag of his tongue, the obscene wet sounds muffled by water, the way his throat flexed every time he swallowed around me.

I was babbling, hands scrabbling for purchase on his wet shoulders, trying to warn him because I was already right there, spine bowing, balls drawing up tight.

He must have felt it. Instead of pulling off he took me impossibly deeper, sealed his lips at the root, and sucked hard.

I came like I’d been electrocuted—hips jerking helplessly, vision whiting out, a animalistic sound ripping out of me that was half his name, half a prayer. My cockhead pulsed down his throat and he swallowed every drop, throat working around me until I was shaking with aftershocks, until I was sure I’d black out from how long he stayed down there.

When he finally surfaced, slow and catlike, water streamed off his lashes and lips. He licked them clean, lazy, like he was savoring the taste, then leaned in and kissed me (open-mouthed, filthy, letting me taste myself on his tongue).

My brain was absolute mush, chest heaving in ragged pulls, cock still twitching against my stomach (spent and oversensitive) when a few thin, milky threads of cum drifted lazily from the tip, dispersing into cloudy ribbons in the swirling water. That’s when his hand drifted dangerously low.

One slick finger traced the cleft of my ass, unhurried, teasing the sensitive rim that was still fluttering from the overload. At the same exact moment his other hand found my left nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger with exactly hard enough to make me gasp into his mouth.

I hadn’t even known I liked that. Now I knew. Very much.

He circled my hole once, twice, then pressed just the tip inside (barely anything) but the stretch after coming so hard made me clench and whimper like I’d been punched in the chest.

Adrien pulled back just far enough to meet my eyes, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and red.

“You have to let me make love to this hole,” he whispered, voice rough with want, finger crooking gently inside me, nail grazing that spot he knew very well existed. “I need to be inside you, Bryson. Slow, deep, until you forget every name but mine.”

The jacuzzi jets kept churning. My heart tried to climb out of my throat. And every single one of my careful plans about who was going to fuck whom tonight quietly drowned in the steam with it.