The sudden, wilder thrusts drew grunts of pain from Atticus’ throat, the tight squeeze that felt close to crushing making him jerk and yelp – but then it released him, and he felt the deep rush of heat inside, telling him Master Ryan had found his own climax.<br/><br/>Nothing in Atticus could hold him back from doing the same.<br/><br/>It was a cascade of gold and fire, a great terrible rush that dragged him under, drowned him, killed him. Heaven was nothing but a roaring blur of bliss and pain and heat and it was perfect. All perfect.<br/><br/>Time passed and the sensations receded. He was gasping for breath, his throat was raw – had he been shouting as he came? – and there was a slickness on his belly. He felt so very, very good. “Mmm,” he said.<br/>