“Yes, you look like you’re suffering,” I reply dryly, because it isn’t hard to decipher the look on his face. He’s into this, really into it, and so am I. It’s a relief, knowing I am still the same as I’ve always been in some ways. I can still look at him and feel nothing but an intense, burning lust no matter what else may be going on.

He presses against my hand and I smile at him, leaning down to almost bring our lips together. Almos, but not quite, because I push his head back down and sit up a little, staring down at his face.

“I want to hear you say it,” I tell him again, letting my fingertips brush over his prostate before pulling them out entirely to cup his balls instead, kneading them oh so gently in my palm, just how I know he likes, but I know it won’t quite make up for the sudden emptiness, or lack of my hand around his cock. “You aren’t going to get to come until you do, pesca. Those are my rules.”