“That’s it, pretty boy. I can tell you’re close. It’s in your breathing. You’re doing so well. Keep quiet and make yourself come for me. Imagine it’s my hand touching you, my lips kissing down your abs and bruising those pretty lips. Be a good boy and come for me.” “Alek,” I beg. “I’m here, pretty boy. Come for me,” he demands, his voice hoarse, and I can’t stop myself.
