Trevor thrived in this, above Lucas, inside him, owning every trembling breath that left his lips.
He was still riding his high, and God, he was riding it well.
Each thrust was precise, well-controlled, and deep enough to make Lucas cry. Trevor didn't need to chase release, he was the chase. Every sound Lucas made, every flutter of muscle around his cock, and every desperate, glazed-over look thrown upward only fed the smug satisfaction pulsing under his skin.
Trevor shifted, adjusting his grip on Lucas's hips, grinding in deeper, exactly where it hurt in that perfect way, and Lucas arched, crying out, eyes rolling back.
Trevor chuckled darkly, utterly pleased with himself. "What happened to all that attitude, huh?"
Lucas could only gasp, his voice wrecked. "F-fuck you—"
Trevor leaned down, teeth catching on his jaw, grinning. "Already am, sweetheart."
Another thrust. Deeper. Sharper. Enough to punch the air out of Lucas's lungs.
