"Get down, Emiliano!"
"Why?"
"Because I am barely hold together since you cut me open a few hours ago?"
"I am not doing anything to hurt you."
"Really? Then are you gonna bottom?"
"Huh?"
"Are you gonna bottom?"
Emiliano chuckled quietly but didn't move off me.
His hand stayed firm on my scar, pressing just enough to remind me it was still healing. The stitches tugged beneath his palm, sharp but not unbearable.
It made me flinch.
He didn't care.
With his other hand, he moved slowly—purposefully. He brought it to his own pants, fingers resting on the zipper. My eyes followed without meaning to.
He dragged his hand up, slow and deliberate, from the zipper to his belly button. His shirt lifted as he moved, revealing the hard lines of his stomach. The skin there twitched slightly under his own touch.
I couldn't look away.
"How deep do you think you could reach, puppy?"
