Page 141 of Hidden Echoes

He nodded desperately, thighs twitching.

“I want to watch you fall apart,” I whispered against his mouth. “I want you crying and gasping while I make you feel every second of my touch. You were made to be touched like this. Look at you—already shaking, already leaking.”

A single tear slid down his cheek as his head tipped back, mouth open in a silent moan, cock twitching in my hand.

“You’re so perfect like this,” I murmured. “Falling apart for me. My pretty, pretty boy.”

His wrists strained gently against the fabric, but he didn’t dare move. He was trembling so beautifully, thighs spread, chest rising in frantic little gasps while I hovered over him, brushing my fingers along his cock just enough to make him feel everything—but never enough to let him fall over the edge.

“Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse, eyes glistening. “Please, Mia, I— I can’t…”

“You can,” I said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, right where the tears had started to fall. “But not yet.”

He sobbed—desperate, broken.

I dragged my thumb over his slit, collecting his slick, watching his hips jerk helplessly in their restraints.

“Look how much you’re leaking for me,” I murmured. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Ruined. Begging. You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”

“Mia,” he whimpered, breath shattering, “please let me come, I—I’ll do anything—”

His body was shaking, barely holding on.

I leaned in, lips against his ear.

“Then beg. Cry for it. Let me hear how badly you need me.”

He sobbed—really sobbed—and the sound broke something in me. Raw, unfiltered, gorgeous.

“Please, Mia, please—I need it, I can’t take it, I’ll fall apart, I swear—please let me come—I wanna come for you, please—”

That was it.

I stroked him, slow but firm, my hand slick with how desperate he was. His body arched, mouth falling open in a cry so loud and broken it echoed off the walls as he came hard, cock twitching in my hand, thick and messy as he spilled for me.

Tears spilled with it, his whole body shaking with the force of it.

I smiled, kissed the corner of his trembling mouth as I untied him. I was about to bring my fingers to my lips to taste him—

But his hand caught mine.

“No,” he whispered, pulling me close, still breathless, still flushed and overwhelmed. “Don’t swallow.”

He smeared it across my lips instead, eyes wild and glassy, as if marking me with what I’d done to him.

“You wear it,” he whispered. “You look so fucking perfect like that.”

I licked slowly across my lips, letting him watch.

And the way he moaned again—like he was ready to fall apart all over—told me this morning was far from over.

Then he kisses me.

Desperate. Starved.

His tongue pushes into my mouth, and the moment he tastes himself on my lips—salty, warm, his—he groans again, deeper this time, like it guts him.

I feel his thick cock throbbing against my belly, desperate and unrelenting, like the mere thought of marking me was enough to make him hard again.

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