He's left breathless, stunned. Fear grips him, but also arousal, the desperate, aching kind that you're sometimes ashamed to admit to.

He lies still but for the heaving of his chest. Pinned there, trapped.

tortured

"I want you...to fuck me."

His voice is a trembling whisper, all cockiness gone, as he parts his thighs wider, raising his hips as if in offering.

"Fuck me...please."

And he bares his throat to him, tipping his head back into the couch cushions. He can feel the silk scarf against his cheek.