CONTINUED
Precious doesn't see what Kamil brings. Kneeling on the bed, his head hangs, hands by his sides—almost unmoving in his deference to Kamil.
He hears Precious breath hitch as he dumps the items on the bed: condom, the bowl of ice-cream and anal beads.
His breath hitches, his fingers twitches, his cock jerks but Precious doesn't raise his head. Not even when Kamil restrains him with the black leather cuffs. He begs for it to be tighter, for Kamil to be nearer and when Kamil undresses, he stops breathing altogether, gaze fixed on Kamil's erect cock.
Kneeling in front of him, Precious reclines into him and shifts his body weight so their cocks perfectly aligns. He darts his hands forward but froze upon remembering he hasn't been given permission yet.
"Go on. Touch me."
Kamil has always prided himself on his great sense of self-control: he likes to watch, to wait, to make them wait, to make them want.
