At Christmas, it had been about having control, finally, when Andrew had felt so powerless. But lately, fighting to keep his business going, he always had to be in charge, take responsibility, and it was exhausting.
“You look so wet, Andrew,” Ford husked. “I can see it from here.”
Andrew peeked down, though he could feel the precum dribbling over his fingers.
“You like me watching you like this, don’t you?”
Another whimper passed Andrew’s lips, as he looked up, caught in Ford’s stare, andGod, he was right; the feel of his eyes on Andrew was almost as good as being touched.
He did still want to touch himself though, so badly.
“Answer when I ask you a question,” Ford said.
“Y-yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I like having your eyes on me. Like this. Holding my cock.”
“Mmm… you do, don’t you? You can touch yourself now, but slow. Very slow.”
The first pass of Andrew’s fingers down his shaft, even at a gradual pace, was heaven, picking up the wetness, curling around his tip, his thumb passing more firmly, and then finishing the stroke toward his base.
“Keep going… that’s it. A little harder now. Harder. Faster. Now stop.”
Andrew trembled at the order to cease.
“Take your pants off. Make yourself comfortable however you’d like but keep the shirt on.”
Mourning the loss of his hand, Andrew wondered how much more likely someone might realize what was going on up here once he was naked. That didn’t stop him though, and he’d soon dropped his pants onto the rooftop, spread his jacket across the ledge, and returned to his sprawled position, with nothing but his shirt hanging from his shoulders.
“Good.” Ford ran his tongue over his lips. “Prop your knees up. Yes… like that. What a view. Now, I want you to suck two fingers into your mouth and keep them there. Get them wet until I tell you to stop.”
The image of what Ford intended to have him do shook Andrew, and he thought—no, he couldn’t do this, not here, not out in the open. But he really didn’t want to spoil whatever this was between them, and the nervous tension in every action, in every moment spent exposed, intensified the heat building and how good it felt.
He lifted his hand to his mouth.
“Slower.”
Hesitating, Andrew moved at a more gradual pace, reaching his mouth and parting his lips to suck two fingers in as instructed—slow,slower, mouth wide so Ford could see. Then he closed his lips around his fingers, letting the saliva build to coat them.
“You can take them deeper than that, can’t you?” Ford’s grin was insufferable.
And so sexy.
Andrew groaned as he sucked them in deeper, saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth.
“Better. You can stop. Make sure those fingers stay wet. You can guess what I’m going to ask you to do with them.”
Opening his mouth to pull the fingers free—slowly, knowing Ford would remind him if he didn’t—he let them hover, waiting for orders.
“You learn quick. Bring them down. Tease yourself a little, but don’t press inside yet.”
Andrew was doing this, on a rooftop, exposed, in front ofArtifice, his nemesis—forhis nemesis. He’d never been so hard, leaking precum all over his thigh and the trench coat beneath him.
Leaning further against the gargoyle at his back, Andrew spread his legs as far as he could, touched his fingers to the budded skin, prodding at his entrance, just a little, but not letting even a fingertip slip inside.
Finally, Ford’s smug expression faltered, his mouth going slack. He was too far away for Andrew to see how blown his pupils might be, but he imagined them pure black.
