“Such a good boy,” I say, my voice low, heavy. “So eager to please.”
He makes a sound—soft, broken—but swallows it back.
“Temblar,” I add, fingertips ghosting lower. “It means tremble.”
He does.
My hand closes around him, gentle but firm, and he arches into the touch with a gasp.
“Perfecto. That one,” I murmur, stroking him slowly, “you don’t need translated, do you?”
He shakes his head, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he exhales a curse. His eyes are glassy, drunk on praise.
“That’s it,” I say as I lower my mouth to his ear again. “Dámelo,” I whisper. “Give it to me.”
He moans, full body clenching with it.
But I don’t let him go yet. I slow my hand, fingers tightening just enough to draw a whimper from his throat.
“Not yet,” I warn. “You don’t come until I say.”
He nods frantically, body twitching under me, desperate to obey even when it costs him. Even when he’s shaking with the effort of it.
“You like praise, don’t you,” I say, though it’s not really a question. “Don’t come and I’ll give you more.”
I release him long enough to grip myself in my hand and then curl my fingers back around him, stroking us both. The feeling is delicious. He’s cut, but that’s not surprising in the least, that’s the American culture for you.
The friction is decadent—slick, tight, hot. Stroking us both together is messier than I expect, pre-cum leaking from both of us, painting our skin, making each pass glide smoother. My fist drags from the base to the tip and back again, slow and deliberate, Luke’s cock flush against mine. The contrast of our skin—his paler, mine darker—only makes it more intense. More real.
Luke gasps, the sound fractured. His hips twitch, like he wants to thrust into my fist but knows better.
“Fuck—please,” he breathes, voice wrecked.
I hum low in my throat. “Please what?”
“Please let me—” His words break on a moan, head falling back against the pillow. “I can’t—I’m trying.”
“You are,” I say, mouth curving with quiet satisfaction. “You’re trying so hard. Such a good boy.”
His entire body shudders.
I tighten my grip, just enough to draw a strangled noise from him, then slow it again, dragging us both right to the edge and holding us there. His cock twitches against mine, the mess between us only growing.
“Say it again,” I murmur, brushing my nose against his cheek. “Beg me.”
Luke turns his head, eyes dazed, lips parted and glossy. “Please, Silas,” he whispers, “please let me come. I’ll be so good, I swear—por favor?—”
The Spanish slips out of him, and it nearly undoes me.
“Muy bien,” I whisper. “Tan bonitowhen you beg.”
He whimpers, desperate and trembling now, and I know he’s close. So close.
I stroke him again, firm and fast this time, the slick glide of our bodies enough to have my own breath catching. My composure stretches thin, but I hold on—for him.
Luke’s thighs tremble beneath my hands, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. He’s close—so close he’s shaking with it—and still he tries to obey. Still, he holds on, desperate for my permission.
“Please,” he gasps again, voice cracking. “Silas, please—I need—fuck, I need it.”
