Andrew was losing his damn mind. Maxwell had been drinking, a lot, but clearly not enough to forget what he liked.
Andrew's hands were tied with the tie that Maxwell had been wearing. They were in front of his body, not behind like Maxwell preferred simply because he was a bit too drunk to do that. However, Andrew had been ordered not to touch him and be on his best behaviour or else he wouldn't get his 'reward'.
Andrew knew what the reward was. It was the sweet, soft, warm ass that Maxwell possessed. Did it make a difference that Andrew had been in and out of that sweet, wonderful, warm home that he'd come to know? Absolutely not. He was fiend for it. He would listen to any order Maxwell gave him if it meant he was able to go back there.
Andrew was an addict, and he wasn't afraid to admit it.
