As much as I want to touch him, to take back even a fraction of control, I stop myself.

“Okay, Julian,” I rasp softly. “Don’t stop.”

Julian’s smirk is dangerous. He reaches out and firmly pushes my hands off the drafting table. Before I can blink, he’s pressing me back against the wood.

He leans in, one hand braced right beside my head, the other sliding down my chest. He traces the line of my ribs, his touch light but burning.

“Fuck,” I groan.

My cock is aching, throbbing in the cool air, begging for him to touch me again.

"Frank," Julian whispers. His voice is low, teasing, and closer...