tug his boxers down and stroke my fingertips over his smooth, rock-hard length. He misses another note, and I grow braver. Lashing my tongue against a spot on his neck, I wrap my hand around the base of his shaft and squeeze. “Holy fuck!” he growls, his arms and shoulders tense, but the music stays steady. “Your cock is so beautiful,” I purr against him. He misses another note. “So sit on it.” And another. “If that’s what you want.” I fight my base urge and stop short of adding the word Sir.
