On his stomach, Mitch lay with his head cushioned by a round, padded pillow with an opening for his face. His c**k was a fierce ache throbbing against his stomach, and no position he tried seemed comfortable. Daryl guided his arms to his sides, then tapped the bottom of his buttocks enough to make Mitch jump. “Up.”
Mitch raised his ass in the air, one hand straying under him to tug on his swollen d**k. He wanted release, and he wanted it now.
But Daryl pulled his hand away. “No playing with yourself,” he chastised. “That’s my job.”
“You’re good at it,” Mitch joked, his voice muffled by the padded pillow.
That earned him another slap on the ass.
Mitch tried to lower his rump, but Daryl warned, “Not yet.” Something warm and heavy slid beneath Mitch’s belly—the wedge cushion he’d removed
