He did like that idea: Colby being his. “You said once you like that, someone making you come, someone else taking charge of you…I could make you come for me again, couldn’t I? Just keep you right here, push you up against the wall, and do whatever I wanted to you, over and over…”
He paused again, because normally Colby would be saying something by now, rambling, babbling words about sugar or mead or flowing rain or artwork or cupcake sprinkles, audibly feeling deliriously delicious.
Colby hadn’t said anything for a while. Jason stopped nuzzling the tempting spot under his jawline. “Colby?”
Colby wasn’t looking at him. Those wide blue eyes were open, and Colby’s hands were still on Jason’s shoulders, but that was wrong, something was wrong, something wasn’t right—
“Colby,” Jason tried,
