Page 56 of Toren

“Do you hate this?” Andrew asked.

“I’m not sure I understand it,” he answered, “but no. I…I definitely don’t hate it.”

CHAPTER 19

Toren

Andrew stared at him like he was looking at an angel or at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or something equally deserving of worship far beyond anything Toren would ever deserve.

“Do you hate this?” Andrew asked.

Toren swallowed hard, wanting to give an honest answer. “I’m not sure I understand it, but no. I…I definitely don’t hate it.”

“What don’t you understand?”

First, Toren didn’t understand why his cock had somehow gotten harder when his knees hit the soft cushion of the leather pillow. When he rested the tops of his hands against his thighs, his fingers had stopped shaking. When Andrew had offered to light a cigarette for him and bring it to his lips, his entire resolve had wavered.

“Why I don’t hate this.”

Andrew leaned forward and brushed his fingertips across Toren’s cheek. “You look perfect to me.”

“What if I hated it?”

“Still perfect.”

Toren let out a long breath and closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds the man on the bench made with each thrust into him and the soft glide of Andrew’s fingers across his jaw. One breath turned into another and another and then the room was quiet, it was still. Toren opened his eyes and not only was the couple gone from the bench, but someone new had taken their place.

He startled, wondering how much time had passed while he’d disassociated. “How long?”

Andrew stared at him intently, fingers still sweeping across his jaw, his chin, his throat.

“Almost forty minutes.”

Toren wanted to react to that. Everything in his brain told him that jumping up and getting going again would have been the right reaction, but his body made no move. His brain demanded even less.

“Take off your shirt,” Andrew murmured, and Toren did, with far less thought than he’d given trying to get up off his knees. “Close your eyes again. Relax.”

Toren’s lashes fluttered, and he let himself again get lost in the darkness. Andrew’s fingers skated lower, down his chest and over his nipples. When Andrew gave a gentle twist and tug, Toren’s entire body wavered, swaying closer to the couch.

“Touch yourself,” Andrew told him next.

Any earlier nerves about perception were long gone, pushed somewhere separate from the bubble they’d made in the playroom. Toren undid his pants and pulled out his cock, stroking himself with steady and warm fingers. Every touch was sensitive. When he’d finished on Andrew’s face, he’d lost a lot of stamina, but his own hand was a welcome touch that he didn’t shy away from. Andrew kept toying with his nipples, and he manipulated his cock until everything was hard and sensitive to the touch.

“I’m close,” he said under his breath.

“Then stop.”

Toren didn’t.

“Then stop,” Andrew said again.

Toren stopped.

“Did it cost you anything?” Andrew asked him. “To take the order?”

Toren wanted to say it cost him an orgasm, but his end was still far enough away he knew that wasn’t true. He understood the meat of what Andrew was asking, and it didn’t actually have anything to do with lost orgasms or tight nipples. Toren was on his knees for another man, a man he loved. He was on his knees and Andrew was telling him what to do, and…

He didn’t dislike it at all.