And Gabe was talking, saying things. How pretty Tom was, how smart and wonderful, and how good he felt. What a sweet, darling boy. How much Gabe loved him, words that fell without pain, without the need to argue, or swallow it down and pretend that they weren’t raw and ugly and unbelievable against Tom’s backlog of experience.
There were tears on his face again, but that was all right, that was good; it was yet another offering to Gabe, to let Gabe have him like this, stripped bare and vulnerable, and that was good and right. He was aware of the ache in his cock, too, the flare of heat the accompanied each thrust, each press against the bruises on his ass. He wanted, he wanted…but it was distant wanting, not nearly as urgent as holding the bell and obeying the rules. He was Gabe’s, and Gabe would take care of him, and all he had to do was let Gabe have control.