He should be with Lance right now, not dealing with this corporate bullshit. The contract's one-sided clause gnawed at him, Lance couldn't sleep with anyone else, but Ansel was free to indulge.
Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew no one else would satisfy him. Lance's body was a drug, and he was already addicted.
Impulsively, Ansel pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, landing on one of his reliable flings, a nameless, willing body he'd used before.
The guy answered on the second ring, his voice eager and familiar. "Get here now," Ansel ordered, his tone brooking no argument.
While he waited, he replayed the video, zoning in on Lance's expressions: the way his eyes fluttered shut in frustration, his hand stroking faster, his body begging for Ansel's touch and being all slutty.
It only fueled the fire in Ansel's veins, his hand slipping inside his pants to stroke himself roughly, imagining it was Lance's mouth on him instead.
