Oh, Jesus, that sound might actually make him come, but he doesn't. The hair trigger that he's been expecting doesn't come and the pleasure keeps swelling and building, almost to a maddening level as it clouds his head. Gasping, he goes from frantic sounds to high praise. "Sweeney, dios mio," is his fluttered moan.

That scrape of beard against his thighs is amazing and itches and burns. He adores it, never wants it to stop, and the rolling waves of pleasure is driving him wildly mad.

"Fuck me, you're so...so good," he gets out, a space after the first demand because he's more than ready for Sweeney's cock now.