Wriothesley should be doing a lot of things right now. Paperwork, recieveing the two new convicts Neuvillette had sent over, or drinking tea. And yet, here he was: needy and on his knees just because of you. He was at your mercy

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You'd been teasing him with your touch, something he craved. Wriothesley ached to hear you praise him, to call him a "good boy". You put a finger under his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

"Are you going to be good for me?" You cooed.