Hooded eyes watching that beautiful face, taking in the expression, the rumble of his words, and damn but this is good. Enough so that had Bobo knows it could be like this, he'd have played damsel more often.

As it is, he's shifting on his heels, knees trembling. As much from the words, that tease and the thought of going back spent and aching and buzzed leaving him groaning against Vasquez's hand.

Bobo's eyes close, shuddering at the thought, loving the idea of being debauched and used and tottering around on his heels, dress rumpled and not caring who saw him or what they assumed.