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Summary
“This is all your fault.” He whined, well most people would describe it that way Floyd personally would classify it as a squeal.
Riddle’s lower lip poured outward as he puffed his already round cheeks comically huge. His skin shifted from flushed piggy pink to bright exasperated red. Floyd wanted to plant wet, slobbering kisses all over that face, nip at his cheeks, no doubt getting him even more worked up until his entire body jiggled in frustration.
“Oh, really?” Floyd took a step forward. “Was it me that called beggin’ to be brought leftovers?” He nudged Riddle’s hands away from the waistband of his suit trousers, replacing them with his own. “Was it me that followed up his second dinner by slurpin’ tiramisu off my cock?”
Or
A surprise “promotion” finds tubby waiter Riddle pulled even deeper into his boyfriend Floyd’s murky world.