Samandriel wanted to fight Carrick's grip, but knew far, far better than to do it. He pulled a little, but not enough for it to be more than anything superficial like he knew Carrick wanted him to struggle some.
"Yes, my lord," Hermes said, following instructions exactly, leaning back enough to make an even more pleasing picture for the vampire. His hand moved in time with his hips, knowing that it was going to drive him ever closer to the edge he thought his Master wanted him at, though whether that was coming all over the angel's stomach or not coming at all or fucking the poor conflicted creature's face was unclear. The boy was clearly losing his grip though, driven near mad with so much pleasure and no hope of releasing it. How long until it would be painful for him? How many more hours or fractions of hours before his vampire was feeling benevolent enough to let the angel come?