The light, absent caress felt like it lasted for eternity. The gentle rasp of skin-on-skin focused his attention. When the hand reached his neck, his breath left him is a shuddering rush. Pale, far-off memories of teasing nibbles and open-mouthed kisses, scratching nails and tight bruising grips whispered through his mind, but they were like morning mist and Ryan was the Sun. Fingers kept moving, curving back, twining into his hair, the grip turning from light to harsh with such speed his body pulsed with delight and desire.<br/><br/>Atticus grunted as the Master of the house drew him close, forcing him to take, to drown in his power and scent and taste. It was something Atticus was all too willing to do, not just giving himself over to the sensations but driving himself deeper into them. He wanted this, with every part of him, he wanted this so much it ached. That hot, invasive mouth crushing down on his, white hot lust in glorious contrast with the Master's black ice personality.<br/><br/>His gloved hands slid over the black silk of Master Ryan’s attire, forgetting to take care of the rich fabric and grasping the large man tight, as if he really were drowning, finesse forgotten in the heady rush of lust, his blood thunder in his ears and scorching under his skin, rushing to his groin and manhood throb and thicken.<br/><br/>Teeth and tongue and lips, he didn’t beg like the good whore he had been once, but demanded, desperate and starved of pleasure. Even as his mouth was claimed, he craved more, something deeper and darker, and he couldn’t keep his hips from jumping forwards in a urgent thrust. He knew he was better than this, but he couldn’t keep control, not with Master Ryan trying his hardest to consume him – fuck, he had never felt this rush before.<br/>