Antidote

That grin of his was torture on the balls.

Gray, wearing nothing but a Santa’s hat, a black one, with BDSM badass printed on it? You holding a Santa, please stop here sign next to your ass, all wide-eyed, expectant, and on your knees?” Jack

Edging,” said Gray. “The ability to keep a sub in a heightened state of sexual arousal. Or in Jack terms: basic fucking self-control.” All humour had gone from his voice.

Gray hadn’t been laid in over six weeks, Jack only three, but if Gray said come, even sperm did a mass exodus for fear of going one-on-one with the man. Jack was going down, and he was going down, in Jack’s words, hard-fucked style. Giving

Will you allow Gray to re-Master you, Jack?” Name the time, date, place, and I’d be there, saddle thrown over shoulder, cowboy hat on, naked, willing to ride the rough until he stopped bucking through exhaustion, but for all of the smart-ass answers I could have used, “Please,” was the only breathed reply I managed.