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“Hi. Please, come through.” His voice was oddly soft, his accent lilting, his manner stopping just short of deferential. I nodded to the old man who harrumphed and went back to his books. Moving toward Yoreth I couldn't help but look him up and down, and up and then down again, trying not to wonder at what might lurk in the centre of those black trousers. “Sorry, he's not very cheery at the best of times.” As we passed through the doorway into a smaller room, a kitchen at one end and two curtained off stalls at the other, I continued. “Is it the strangers in a small town thing?” Yoreth laughed. “Possibly. He's just … well, odd.” “Relation?” I was damned if I could see a resemblance. “Great uncle. Family business. I'm the only boy left.” I grinned. “No pressure there then.” He smiled right back, laying his eyes on top of mine. “I doubt I'll be giving anyone another generation, either.” Oh? Pingpingpingping. He obviously saw the expression on my face and nodded. Oh. I grinned and held. “Your thighs,” I told him. “The insides of your thighs.”He warbled a moan.“The crease of your hips.”“Ah, fuck,” he hushed out and I heard the rustle of the blanket and sheets as his deliciously ticklish body jerked.“The… the base of your cock.”“Not the tip,” he almost whined, and I had to bite back a wicked smile. Fuck, this was so wrong.“No, not the tip,” I confirmed. “Not yet. They’re only touching you so gently.”“Please.” He sounded heartbroken in the way only a desperate drunk man could.“No.” I had never heard my voice sound like that. It was almost scary. “And slower.”He panted through his nose like he was in pain and squirmed on his cot but I had no doubt that he was following my order no matter how much he had to fight himself to do it. Such a good boy.“You said you could hold out for a long time, Logan,” I reminded him, feeling just a little bit evil.“Fuck, please,” he repeated again, sounding very sorry indeed that he had been so cocky before.“They want to see how long you.
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