A moan slips out of his mouth, still muffled, and it irritates me.
He also did this the last time, not letting me hear his sounds of pleasure properly.
But at least he let me listen to him when he begged and blathered, on the verge of exploding all over my hand.
Maybe that’s what I need to do. Push him to the edge again. Repeat that moment.
Drag that abandon out of him, even if it’s the last thing I do.
“Answer the question, Preston.” I stroke his ass where I just hit him, and he stiffens a little.
It’s strange that he welcomes spanking with open arms, but I try to soothe the ache, and he’s sonotinto it.
Who hurt you, my toy?
Whodaredto hurt my toy?
“What question…?” He trails off, looking like my own fucking piece of art, cheeks red, mouth parted, and so overrun with desire, I’m sure if I touched his dick, it’d be standing at attention.
“I asked if you want to be hurt by me.”
He purses his lips, slowly retreating into that head of his and keeping that wall I’ll break the fuck down in place.
I release him and step back, creating some distance I most definitely don’t want.
And for a moment, I admire the sight of my handprints on his fair skin.
Fuck me.
I didn’t get a proper look at him the last time, with him on the run and everything, but he wears my bruises so well.
The animalistic need to mark him permanently rears its head.
Take him.
Ownhim.
Make him mine.
I clamp down on those thoughts, trying to shove them back because they’re absolutelypreposterous.
I don’t want to own others, especially not an elusive little shit like Preston.
“Why did you stop…” He stares back at me, but both his hands are still planted on the locker, his legs as parted as I left them, like a very good boy.
The view of his boxers stretched between his thighs is so fucking erotic, I want to fuck him right here and now.
Thrust my cock in his ass and make him take it, listen to his groans and moans as I fuck and fuck andfuck?—
No.
Slow down.
I don’t want him to get spooked and run off on me.
My hand wraps around my wooden stick, and I finger the smooth sanded surface of the shaft.
“What…” He swallows, staring at the stick, but instead of discomfort or fear, his eyes brighten with excitement, my naughty prince. “What are you doing?”
