Aidan let him nearly come, and then again: drawing out the sensation, the stimulation. Ink’s ass, when he slid a hand under to cup it, remained warm; Ink whimpered when Aidan rubbed fingers over his hole, the opening Aidan’s hand and belt and c**k had spanked and caressed and f****d. “Please…”
“Too much?”
“I don’t know…”
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He kissed Ink’s hip, drew a heart with his tongue, nibbled at the spot with teeth. “But I am going to let you come like this. No, hang on. Not let you. Make you.”
“Oh,” Ink said weakly. “Oh yes. You and that voice, yes. Please.”
“Good boy. My good little pooka.” He touched star-pale wrists, which remained trapped by his order; he traced the line of one arm to Ink’s shoulder, and over to Ink’s throat. He left the hand resting there, no pres
