Ah, there it was, the giving over into pleasure, into his mastery. Severin's hands were firm but not cruel on Sonny, just enough strength to hold and support him. He was never too rough on his slaves; he didn't need to exert force when compulsion--and later, the acknowledgement of his gentleness with them--did the job for him. Sometimes he missed the hunt, the struggle, but he liked compliance better.
Sonny pressed closer, hands going to touch, to grasp, his cock hard against Severin's belly. Severin slid his hand from the small of Sonny's back to fold his fingers around it, so hot and hard in his palm. Sonny was already wet, and Severin's hand slid up and down, stroking him, rubbing thumb across the sensitive place just beneath the head, occasionally across the slick top. He could feel Sonny tremble against him.
He didn't mean to take more than a taste, this first time, and so after a few mouthfuls, pulled back reluctantly, licking the small, neat punctures, the little smear of red around them. Severin made a low sound of satisfaction, kissed up Sonny's throat as he continued to stroke him, and whispered, "Come for me," in Sonny's ear.