“Tell me what you’re thinking, Bruiser.”
Ian took a deep breath. “Well, I mean, Sahara is hot. And doing girls has never been an issue, but without you there, I would have been thinking about how tough she’s had it. Maybe wanted to hug her instead of let her suck my dick. But you took over. I didn’t have to wonder if I was doing the right thing. I trusted you to know.”
Pisch’s eyes darkened as his lips slid into a slow, dangerous smile. Dangerous to Ian anyway, because it meant Pisch had figured him out. “Good. That was perfect, my man. I know what you need. Thank you for being so honest with me.”
Moving away from Ian, Pisch undid his belt. Slid it free of the loops and folded it in his hand.
All right, he better not be thinking of hitting me with that. Ian frowned. His lips parted.
Pisch pointed at a chair. “Sit, Bruiser.”
He’d used the same tone he might with a dog. And Ian obeyed before even questioning if it bothered him. The hard, wood chair dug into the back of his thighs as he sat forward.
“Lean back and relax, Bruiser. This isn’t a fight.” Pisch smoothed his hand over Ian’s hair. “You want this. Even if you only want it for me, you do want it.”
All the tension in Ian’s body evaporated as he leaned back. Put that way, yeah, he wanted it. He rested against the back of the chair.
“Very good. Hands behind you…no, Ian. On the other side of the chair.” Pisch’s light tone made the embarrassment irrelevant as Ian put his hands in a place that made sense. Clasped around the back of the chair. His chest swelled at Pisch’s low hum of approval. “Fuck, you’re hot like this.”