Kavinsky could hardly formulate any sort of coherent response. Between the thorough, deep way that Lee fucked into him--somewhere between punishing and all-consuming, almost possessive--and the husky, thick rhythm of his voice, it was a wonder that Kavinsky hadn't let himself come completely unraveled already. He let go of his hold on English, Bulgarian a close second behind, just little snippets tumbling out of his mouth, battered out of him on breathless, moaning gasps as his hips jumped to meet Lee's thrusts.

The bed creaked beneath them, a steady sort of thump as they moved. It took a delayed moment for Kavinsky to bring his wits back to him, to realize that Lee had actually asked a question that demanded an answer that wasn't just his slick, wet moans and needy mumbling.

"God," he whispered, shaking, nearly a laugh. He gripped the pillow next to his head, biting his lip. "Yeah. Yeah, daddy, I want you to fuck me hard. God, please."