Part 9: The Night With Mr. Maddox (Finale)

“You taste incredible, Mr. Maddox.”

His laugh came out rough, low, a little broken around the edges. “You are a pro at this, Troy. This wasn’t in your resume!”

But his hands were already on my hips again—firm, hungry—and the look in his eyes was nothing short of ravenous.

And the night wasn’t over.

Blake leaned forward, the mattress dipping under his weight, and kissed me again—slow, deep, like he couldn’t get enough. His fingers moved to my jaw, then down to my collarbone, trailing across my bare chest with reverence.

Then he whispered it—against the corner of my mouth:

“My turn to taste you.”

I froze. A soft sound caught in my throat.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, Mr. Maddox. I would love that.”

He smiled. Not cocky—just warm. Full of this kind of quiet awe, like I was offering him something sacred.

“If anything feels off, if you want to slow down, you tell me. No hesitation.”

“I will,” I breathed.

And then he moved. Downward. Slowly. His lips kissed a path down my chest, lingering at the soft center, brushing over each nipple with his tongue. My body arched involuntarily. I gasped when he sucked, gentle but focused, drawing another breathless noise from my mouth. He looked up at me as he did it, eyes dark and steady, like he wanted to watch every reaction.

Then he kept going. Down. Down.

His hands parted my thighs, strong but gentle, and he kissed the inside of one first, then the other—alternating, teasing me, lips soft and dragging. I felt the air on my skin, the tension in my stomach tightening.

By the time his breath ghosted over my cock, I was trembling.

And when his mouth finally wrapped around me—warm, slow, wet—I moaned so loud it echoed in the room. He took me deep, inch by inch, letting his lips stretch, his tongue swirl, his jaw work with practiced, patient hunger. His hand wrapped around the base while he sucked, and he moved like he wanted me to feel every single flick, every drag, every glide.

“Blake,” I breathed. “God, Blake...”

He kept going. Drew it out. Built me up until I was panting, twisting the sheets, my hips twitching upward against his hand. I was right there—so close I could taste it.

But then he slowed. Let me come down. Teased me at the edge.

He pulled off with a wet pop and wiped his mouth, eyes flicking up as he pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh again.

“Look what you do to me,” he murmured.

I looked down—and yeah.

He was hard again.

Thick, flushed, his cock standing proudly against his abs, bobbing slightly with every breath.

My whole body lit up. He shifted, crawled up my frame until his lips met mine again. I could taste myself on his mouth. I didn’t care.

“Can I...?” he whispered. “Troy. Can I please fuck you?”

My stomach clenched. I swallowed, nodding.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Please.”

His lips found my forehead, then my cheek, then my jaw. “Just breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

He reached for the drawer. The condom. A bottle of lube. He took his time—warmed the lube in his hand before touching me. His fingers were so gentle I nearly cried. He kissed my neck as he worked me open, taking his time, crooning soft praises into my ear as my body adjusted.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “Just like that ... There you go.”

When I was ready—when I begged—he lined himself up, breath shaky.

Then—

He pushed in. Slowly. Carefully.

I gasped, hands gripping his shoulders. My legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He held still, buried partway inside me, his jaw tight with restraint.