The plea escaped from him. He wasn't even sure what he was begging for anymore. For this to end? For it to never end? For someone—for Grayson—to make it better?
The sensation sent sparks of pleasure-pain through his oversensitized body. He had never done this before, not in either life, and it showed in his uncertain movements. But his body knew what it wanted even if his mind refused to acknowledge such acts.
The heat guided him, demanding more, deeper, harder.
His imagination filled in the gaps his experience couldn't. Grayson's fingers instead of his own. Grayson's voice murmured filthy praise—Grayson's lips swallowing his desperate moans.
"Ah! Gray—please—"
I swear, Neville thought desperately between waves of sensation, if I get through this, I'm going to clean out my brain thoroughly. Bleach it. Reset it to factory settings. Something.
