Sorry, Lass

"You're doing such a good job." Luckily your attempt at a husky voice seems to work. Farkas' eyes snap to yours, his face heating. You watch his cute lips fumble for the right words, strong fingers tightening where they grip your legs.

"Good." His attempt to laugh the moment off fails. Farkas' mouth is occupied once more with pleasuring you but you can't shake his reaction. He likes being praised.

Farkas slowly unlearning his embarrassment about how badly he desires your approval. Growing comfortable with asking for and accepting it. He loves to hear about how he's making you feel, seemingly aroused by pleasing you.

Farkas who's no longer ashamed of seeking your praise. His armor half unbuckled where he's seated under your desk, hips thrusting insistently against your boot.

"Tell me," Farkas whines, an eager hand creeping up your thigh. "Tell me how good I am."

"So needy." You tsk, ignoring the hot flash of arousal you receive from every look at him. Farkas gazes up at you like you're his entire world, as if his life hinges on a kind word from you. His armor jingles as his hips snap forward, rutting against your leg.

"Please," he mutters as he reaches for the fastenings of your own trousers. He's so eager to please you, starving for nothing more than your praise.

Gripping a handful of his hair you wrench Farkas' head back. His lips fall open and you're startled by the sight before you. The Companions' fiercest warrior, a wall of muscle fueled by an animalistic urge to protect his family, has dissolved into a whimpering mess at your feet.

"You're my good boy." The effect your words have on him is visible. Farkas is nodding, cock throbbing where he rubs it against your leg.

"Yeah," he groans, voice a deep rumble.

"My strong, handsome boy who always listens so well." He's nodding along, obviously pleased. "So pretty too."