Derek slowly rotated his wrist, fingers brushing against his sac, knuckles against the boy's perineum. His other hand fisted in the quilt with badly repressed frustration.
"Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice rough, and low with restrained desire. "To be held down and taken roughly? Is that why you fight me at every turn? Are you waiting for my control to break? For me to act like the Masters I saved you from?"