[ It is, Bull thinks a bit wildly, a very good thing that he has control. Dorian tastes like whiskey and sugar and awful green shit, but there's also a bit of his makeup, the wax from his mustache, and his own natural taste. There's the feel of him under his palms, the way he kisses, the swearing.
Bull very much wants to hear more of it, to be the cause of it. He wants to feel more, do more.
But not tonight, he reminds himself. Not tonight.
Still... ]
You can sit down, [ he offers, spreading his legs and gesturing toward his lap. ]
action.
Bull very much wants to hear more of it, to be the cause of it. He wants to feel more, do more.
But not tonight, he reminds himself. Not tonight.
Still... ]
You can sit down, [ he offers, spreading his legs and gesturing toward his lap. ]