So different. Not at all the icy control he knew, had expected. Master Ryan was molten inside. Feral.<br/><br/>He couldn’t care less. He only wanted the Master, his Master, to keep moving. It was so good, why had he waited so long, he had missed this. Only, he’s never had this mindlessness. This pure indulgence. This selfish fuck. Not worrying his partner’s pleasure but drowning in his own.<br/><br/>When Master Ryan braced his hands by his head, Atticus opened his eyes, seeing through one the man’s contorted features. Master Ryan was fucking him like it had been he who had been abstinent, not Atticus. He still didn’t care. Silk strands brushed over him and he shuddered and jumped, the sensation of each heavy, dark hair felt like they were brushed against his manhood instead of his cheek and shoulders.<br/><br/>Hands gripped his legs, putting pressure on them so he bent into a more acute position – he yelped as Master Ryan drove in again, nails biting, scoring, as he thrusts quickened pace. He was raw, burning, throbbing, pleasure pulsing alongside the ache. His balls tightened, drawing closer to his body, so close to his climax. And yet he couldn’t.<br/><br/>He need... “M-Mas-<em>sss</em>-ster,” he groaned, pleading, desperate.<br/>