“Touch her, Master,”Zero implores at the same time he digs his fingers deeper into her sides.“Please.”
I hate the way he begs.
No.
I hate that Idon’t hatethe way he begs.
That I love it.
That I love him.
That I love hearing him need me to do the things I’ve hated a little part of myself for wanting to do.
“We need to take care of her,” he airily pants, vision becoming more and more hooded.“Make her ours.”
And I hate that about her.
Love it.
There is no making Salay do anything.
Never has been.
Never will be.
I know it’s one of the many things that keeps her father – aka the man I’ll be betraying when I touch her – up at night regardless of their gag order to the media on a high-profile case level of communication.
Resistance continues to run rampant despite my dick steadily swelling for another round.
“Look at me being a good boy,” Zero relentlessly baits between erratic bucks.“Look at me making her moan…”
Salay releases the sound alongside a tiny rock forward, eager for more pressure in the one place she’s not receiving it.
“Reward me,” he whines, agape mouth anxious to be mounted.“Reward me for being so good.”
If anything other than instinct were allowed in this moment, there’d be hesitation.
Reluctance.
A fraction of deliberation regarding my lips claiming his.
But there isn’t.
And I’m grateful.
And I’m even more fucking grateful over how his tongue instantly submits to mine the second they touch.
How swiftly it becomes subservient.
Allows me to lead the pacing.
The pressure.
The roughness.
And Dios Mio, do I let it get rough.
Explore every curve of the small area.
