[ She might have some of her assumptions spot on, but there had never been anything ‘comfortable’ about his family or upbringing. And he’d struggled from a far younger age than most. He could bristle about being ‘raised right’, because those words stabbed uncomfortably close to truth, to wounds long and carefully buried. But he knew how to play the game, knew how to don the mask of polite civility, dance the tune of a gentleman.

Even if he still wasn’t convinced that was what she actually wanted.

But he surrenders to her demand, to the sharper tug on his hair, the firm look in her eyes. Because he’s well aware what he likes and those certainly count among them. ]

I feel like I should be honest and point out that I’m very much not a good boy and never have been. [ But he can follow directions. When he feels like it. ] But please let me touch you, let me taste you. And I’ll thank you afterwards.