My hand freezes as my gaze lands on the crook of his thigh, his hand slowly curling around his now-hardened cock. “Don’t stop,” he says. The note of desperation in his tone makes it feel like I’ve been physically touched, heat pooling low in my stomach. Forcing my hand to move, my eyes intermittently look down at my sketch then quickly back up while Ozzy starts to fuck his fist in long, languid strokes. After a few pumps, he tilts his head forward. Lining his mouth directly above his cock, he lets a long spool of spit fall on the tip, his thumb smoothing it over the skin.
