“Can you open your mouth and close your eyes?” The loss of Yarrow’s hand doesn’t break Folly’s immersion. He obeys, still floating inside himself, guided by Yarrow’s words, anchored by the rope around his wrists. Yarrow speaks above wet, quickening sounds. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. I can’t say that enough. I’ve never wanted someone more than you, Folly. I need to paint your pretty face with my come, so you know who you belong to. I need—fuck, Folly.”
