teaching simon riley anatomy of his own dick !!
MINORS DNI, NSFW BELOW THE CUT ᯠᥣđ©
Simon Riley is used to danger.
Heâs trained in torture resistance, knows half a dozen ways to kill with household items, has faced down death in more countries than youâve had birthdays. But right now, sitting shirtless on the edge of your bed, legs spread and brows knit together while you kneel between them with that look on your faceâ
Heâs suspicious. Immediately.
ââŠWhatâre ya up to?â His accent is flat, suspicious, but thereâs a twitch in the corner of his mouth that betrays amusement.
You shrug innocently. Place one hand lightly on his bare thigh. He doesnât flinch, but you feel the muscle shift under your touch.
âGonna teach you somethinâ,â you say sweetly.
He narrows his eyes.
âDonât need any lessons, love. Think Iâve got the basics down.â
You raise a brow. Reach for his boxers.
Simon freezes.
ââŠYouâre joking.â
You donât answer. You just pull them down.
His cockâthick, flushed, intimidatingâis half-hard already. He sits there, trying so hard not to react, though his jaw clenches and his eyes fluttered shut.
But the pink at the tips of his ears?
Dead giveaway.
You rest your hand at the base of his cock, light, nonchalant, and grin up at him.
âAlright, Mr. Riley. Letâs begin.â
He breathes in through his nose. Controlled.
âI swear to Godââ
âHere we have the glans,â you say, as if delivering a lecture to a university class. âAlso known as the tip. Extra sensitive. Tons of nerve endings. Real good for, you knowââ
You flick your thumb gently over the slit.
Simon grunts.
You look up at him. Innocent. âStimulation.â
He says nothing.
His jaw is tight, hands gripping his thighs, as if he was restraining himself from taking over this lesson. He wanted to. Wanted to
But right now?
He lets you teach.
âThisââ you wrap your hand around the shaft, slowly stroking from base to head ââis the corpus cavernosum. Two spongy chambers that fill with blood to form the erection.â
He stares at you.
âI know what an erection is,â he mutters, flustered now.
âMm. Iâm giving you a refresher.â
You stroke again. He sucks in a breath.
Then, quietlyââYouâre gonna be the fuckinâ death of me.â
âMaybe. But youâll die educated.â
He laughsâlow, darkâchest rumbling under the scar-laced skin. His head tips back just slightly, lips parted as your hand works him with maddening slowness. Precise. Like youâre the trained marksman and his body is your target.
And itâs working.
Heâs rock hard now, the flush spreading down his chest to his abs. His cock is heavy in your palm, leaking, twitching every time your thumb presses just under the head.
You lean in close and lick a stripe up the underside.
Simon groansâhands flying up to fist the sheets behind him.
âAnd this,â you say, licking your lips, âis your frenulum. Tight little band under the glans. One of the most sensitive points on your dick.â
He exhales through his teeth, muttering something filthy under his breath.
âFuckinâ hellâwhereâd ya learn all this?â
You smile sweetly. âA chef never reveals his recipe.â
Simon chokes.
You laugh. Press a kiss to the tip of his cock, just to watch him shudder.
He looks down at you, eyes dark, pupils blown, teeth clenched.
âYouâre enjoying this,â he grunts.
âA little.â
âYouâre cruel.â
âAnd youâre hard as hell.â
He shakes his head, breath hitching as your mouth finally envelops the headâsoft, warm, slow. But just before he can buck his hips, just before he lets that groan escape his throatâ
You pull off.
He actually whimpers.
You blink up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. âWould you like a pop quiz, Lieutenant Riley?â
Simon exhales. Laughs once. Dark and wrecked.
âYou keep this up, love, and 'm flipping ya over the bed. Youâll feel every anatomical structure you just described.â He murmured, half-warning and half-threat.
You hum, licking your lips.
âMm. Tactile learning.â
He scoffs.
And then?
He does flip you.
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