“My gift,” he murmured, liking how that sounded as well. Leaning down, he kissed the back of Arthur’s neck, nipping lightly at the skin at the base of those soft, short hairs. “That’s my boy,” he groaned, working him with a scissoring of fingers, working hard to get him open. He wanted him. Bad. Desperately bad. The closer he was to him, the more he had, the more he needed. There was something about Arthur he was learning he craved.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he groaned, not willing to rush and hurt him but desperate to have all he could, as soon as he could.