The shift didn't startle Kavinsky, exactly, but it pressed a breath out of him. He let it go, soft, into the air above him, and when Lee's mouth found his neck, his collarbone, he breathed in so deep his lungs ached. He shivered a bit, arching up into it, silently begging for more of it, more evidence that he was wanted, that he was desired. It was all he could have for now.

The brush of Lee's lips and words sank across Kavinsky's skin, and he twisted with them, smiling softly. There was a glib comment on his tongue, but it melted away as Lee's mouth traced over to his nipple. He'd always been a bit sensitive, and he groaned, soft and long.

If there was one thing he had never lied about, it had been this: this rapturous, wanton thing he became when someone unwrapped him was real, and he had never had to fake a moment of it with anyone.