Yussa makes a low, resigned sound that might be misery if not for the way his body tightens around Caleb's fingers. His hips jump as his lover's hand curls to press against his aching, flushed cunt, rubbing and grinding in a way that makes Yussa's head spin. He gives in then, mindlessly chasing the pleasure of that friction and that of Caleb's fingers working in and out of him. This isn't the first time Caleb has reduced him to this, and yet it's still different from all those previous occasions. Perhaps it's because it's under the auspices of this fantasy, the little reality they've created for themselves for the night. Whatever it is, Yussa feels it intensely. He is utterly swept up in his lover's effortless authority, the slight cruel streak that he's never seen this clearly applied to delicious effect.

Another, Caleb says, and Yussa realizes deliriously that they must have been at this for an hour now if his lover says he promised three. With Caleb's insistence, Yussa doesn't resist the rising crest inside him and he shudders beneath the younger man when it crashes. He moans, thighs straining apart as his orgasm rushes through him in waves of tension. Tight walls squeeze around Caleb's fingers and he feels the rhythmic throb of his empty cunt bearing down around nothing. The drag of Caleb's palm over his twitching entrance is the worst tease, but Yussa does not have the wherewithal - or permission - to put his own fingers inside himself.

Yussa lays there, panting and trembling and of half a mind to try to pull away, but he doesn't have the strength for it at the moment. And, more importantly, he is Caleb's. Slowly, his hand goes weak and drops from Caleb's arm and the other releases the tight grip he's had on the blankets beneath them.