My Reluctant Plaything
“Taste me.”
Noah’s resistance cracked. His lips parted, and Blackwell slid inside, his hand tangling in Noah’s hair, guiding him.
“Good boy,” Blackwell murmured. “Take it slow.”
Noah gagged at first, his throat working, but Blackwell didn’t let up. He set a steady rhythm, pulling Noah forward and back, using his mouth with calm control.
“Look at me,” Blackwell ordered.
Noah’s eyes flicked up, tears pricking the corners, and Blackwell smiled. “That’s it. On your knees, choking on me, exactly where you belong.”