If he's this sensitive now, just imagine what it would be like once Locus had applied his mouth elsewhere.

But for now, he's taking his time. Seeking out that pulsepoint in his throat and sucking against it gently, kneading with his teeth before laving his tongue across the mark in a warm swipe. Just enough to leave a faint mark beneath the surface of his skin.

And those lips skate downward, closing around the jut of a collarbone.

"Still feeling good?"