The room was silent except for the soft hum of the monitors and the wet, rhythmic sound of my hand moving on his c**k.
Justin knelt in perfect stillness on the raised medical bed, thighs spread wide, hands clasped behind his back, spine straight despite the violent tremor running through every exhausted muscle. Sweat glistened on his golden skin like liquid gold under the low lights. His c**k was flushed dark red, the head swollen and shining, leaking in slow, heavy drops that fell onto the sheets with audible, obscene little sounds. He had been like this for hours — silent, suffering, completely denied.
I stood in front of him, white coat open, naked beneath it, my hand working him with slow, deliberate strokes while I studied his face.
No words passed between us.
Only the silent suff
