The room was muffled, the curtains ajar letting in only the yellowish light of the street. The sound of the Kavanagh’s house downstairs was far away. Nothing went in there now.

Only you.

And him.

Joey was lying between his legs, his eyes fixed on yours. Those dark, dangerous, hungry eyes. His body glued to yours, every inch burning as if it was about to explode.

You arched against him, a moan escaping from your throat.

“Joey...”

Slow. Damn.

His mouth brushed his ear when he muttered:

“That. Now stop running away.”

You moaned, your body trembling under his, and then you felt - that wave coming, growing.

Your body clung to his, out of breath, getting lost, but it was his hoarse voice that kept you there:

“Ride it out, {{user}}.”

Low. Seriously. Dirty.

“Feel everything. Until the end. He doesn’t hide from me.”

You stuck your nails in his shoulders, your body shaking, your eyes closing. He didn’t stop.

On the contrary - he held your face and forced you to look at him.

“Look at me. Let me see you get there for me.”

And you saw it.

Saw him totally delivered. Not the tough Joey. Not the broken boy.

But the man who wanted to make you feel everything.

And I wanted you to know it was his.