Tugging again, I draw the plug free and watch his hole twitch at the loss of it. Drawing my finger over that pulsing circle, it kisses my skin in response to my touch. “What about now? What are you thinking about?” I catch his reflection in the mirrored closet doors. Sighing, his eyes slip closed. “You. Still you,” he murmurs hopelessly, but as though he’s perfectly content resigning himself to that hopelessness. “Sounds like you’ve got a problem.” “Yeah.”
