Lakeside Flames: His Wife's Blessing Ignites Our Summer Surrender

The lake stretched out like a sheet of hammered silver under the late afternoon sun, pines crowding the shore in a dark, whispering wall. Ryan stood on the weathered porch of the cabin his family had owned for three generations, coffee gone cold in his hand, watching Claire pack the last of her bags into the back of the SUV. Two weeks up here had been her idea—reset, she’d called it, after the grind of his firm’s spring quarter. He was thirty-two in the boardroom and twenty-eight in the mirror, still carrying the lean runner’s build that let him pass for younger, dark hair cropped short, jaw shadowed by the vacation stubble she liked to drag her nails through. Married four years. Happy. Mostly. Except for the thing he never said out loud until the night before.

Claire came up behind him, arms sliding around his waist, chin on his shoulder. She smelled like the citrus lotion she always packed. “You’re quiet.”

“Just thinking about the dock. It’s half rotting. I called that local guy.”

“Errol. I know. You mentioned him three times.” Her laugh was soft, knowing. She turned him by the hips so they faced each other. Claire was thirty, blonde, freckles across her nose, the kind of woman who looked at him like she already owned every secret. “Ryan. Look at me.”

He did. Heat crawled up his neck.

“I’ve watched you for years,” she said. “The way your eyes snag on certain guys at the gym. The way you freeze when that barista with the forearms flirts. You’re not broken. You’re hungry. And I want you fed.” Her hands slid down, cupped him through his shorts—already half hard just from the words. “Three days in the city. Meetings I can’t skip. While I’m gone, you explore. Fully. No half-measures, no guilt. If some man makes your cock throb, you let him. You bend for him if that’s what you need. You come home and tell me every filthy detail so I can get off on it later. Do you understand me?”

Ryan’s mouth went dry. “Claire—”

“I mean it.” She squeezed, deliberate. “I’ve jacked you off to the idea already. I want this for you. Enthusiastic blessing. Official. Signed in spit if you need it.” She rose on her toes, kissed him deep, tongue slow and claiming, then bit his lower lip. “Be safe. Be loud if you want. Just be honest when I get back.”

He nodded, throat tight. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

She grinned, wicked and bright, and climbed into the driver’s seat. Gravel popped under the tires as she pulled away. The cabin felt suddenly huge and empty, the lake lapping at the failing dock like it knew something he didn’t.

Errol showed up at nine the next morning in a battered pickup that rattled with tools. Ryan had expected some middle-aged guy with a beer gut. What climbed out was thirty-two years of raw construction muscle: six-two, shoulders that strained a faded black tee, thick thighs in dusty Carhartts, boots scuffed to hell. Dark hair damp with early sweat, a short beard that framed a mouth made for dirty promises, hazel eyes that flicked over Ryan once and lingered. When he peeled the shirt off to work in the heat, Ryan’s stomach dropped straight to his cock.

Sun-browned skin. Chest dense with hair that arrowed down a hard stomach into the waistband of his pants. Nipples tight from the breeze off the water. Sweat already sheening the deep cut of his lats, rolling in slow tracks down the V of his hips. He moved like the dock boards were personal enemies—hauling timber, driving spikes, every swing of the sledge making the muscles in his back jump and flex.

Ryan brought out two beers around noon because he couldn’t stand watching from the porch another second without doing something. Errol took one, drank deep, throat working. A drop of condensation slid from the bottle and kissed the hair on his chest.

“Appreciate it,” Errol said. Voice low, rough from smoke or shouting over machinery. “You the husband? Claire mentioned when she booked me.”

“Ryan. Yeah.” He leaned against a piling that still held, close enough to smell sun, sweat, and sawdust on the man. “Dock’s been shit for years. Glad you’re fixing it.”

Errol’s eyes dragged over him again—openly this time. Ryan wore only board shorts, bare feet, the light trail of hair down his own stomach damp from humidity. He felt seen. Stripped. His cock thickened against the thin fabric and he didn’t bother hiding it.

“Claire said you might be rattling around alone a few days.” Errol set the bottle down, wiped his mouth with the back of a thick forearm. “Said if I wanted company for a beer after, the door was open. That right?”

Ryan’s pulse hammered in his throat, his dick, everywhere. “She tell you anything else?”

A slow smile cut across Errol’s face, all white teeth and intent. “Enough. Said her man had some curiosity he needed to burn off. Said I looked like the type who wouldn’t mind helping a willing guy figure shit out.” He stepped closer. Heat rolled off him. “You willing, Ryan?”

Ryan’s answer came out hoarse. “Yeah. Fuck. Yes.”

Errol’s hand came up, rough palm scraping lightly over Ryan’s jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. Not kissing yet—just claiming space. “I’ve been watching you watch me all morning. Your shorts don’t hide much. You hard just from looking?”

“Since you took the shirt off.”

“Good.” Errol’s other hand dropped, bold as hell, and cupped Ryan through the fabric. Squeezed once, slow, feeling the full aching length of him. Ryan gasped, hips jerking forward into the pressure. “Christ, you’re packed. Married dick that’s never had another man’s hand on it. That true?”

“True.” Ryan’s voice cracked. He could smell himself now, the sharp musk of want mixing with Errol’s sweat. “Never even kissed a guy.”

Errol leaned in, breath hot against Ryan’s ear. “We’re gonna fix that. Not all at once—I’m still on the clock and this dock’s getting finished—but tonight you’re gonna let me in that cabin. You’re gonna get on your knees or on your back or bent over the kitchen table, whatever feels right when the moment hits. I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve been starving for it, because I can already tell you have. And you’re gonna take it. Hard. Deep. Until you’re leaking and begging and loving every second. That sound like the blessing she gave you?”

Ryan’s knees nearly buckled. “Exactly like it.”

Errol gave his cock one more firm stroke through the shorts, then stepped back, eyes dark with promise. “Then get out of my way so I can finish this job before the light goes. I want clean hands when I put them all over you later. And Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“Leave the door unlocked. And don’t you dare jerk off while you wait. That load’s mine.”

Ryan watched him turn back to the timber, muscles rolling under sweat-slick skin, the thick outline of Errol’s own cock now visible along his thigh. The sun beat down. The lake whispered. Somewhere in the city Claire was smiling to herself, and Ryan’s whole body thrummed with the raw, electric certainty that by nightfall he was going to be opened up and wrecked in the best possible way—exactly as promised, exactly as blessed.

He went inside on unsteady legs, heart slamming, cock dripping a wet spot through his shorts, already aching for the hours still left to burn.

Ryan paced the cabin like a caged animal, cock still throbbing in his shorts, the wet spot spreading colder against his thigh every time he shifted. He forced himself not to touch it—Errol’s order ringing in his ears like a brand. Outside, the hammering finally stopped. Boots thudded up the porch steps. The door swung open without a knock.

Errol filled the frame, shirt still off, jeans hanging low on those thick hips, a smear of dirt across one pec. He caught Ryan staring dead at the heavy bulge along his thigh and didn’t look away. A slow, filthy grin split his face.

“Like what you see, pretty boy? Been peeking through the fucking window half the afternoon. Your eyes glued to my cock every time I bent over those boards.” He stepped inside, kicking the door shut. “I caught you. Staring at my ass like you wanted to bury your face in it. That married hole of yours clenching just thinking about me spreading you open?”

Ryan’s mouth went dry. Heat flooded his face, but he didn’t drop his gaze. “Yeah. Couldn’t stop. You’ve got an ass that should be illegal. Thick. Solid. Makes me want to drop to my knees and bite it.”

Errol’s laugh was pure smoke. “Fuck, listen to you. Already talking dirty and I haven’t even got my dick out. C’mere.” He closed the distance in two strides until their chests brushed—bare skin to bare skin, Ryan’s sparse trail scraping Errol’s dense hair. Heat rolled off the bigger man in waves. Nipples dragged. Ryan felt the hard ridge of Errol’s cock press against his own through the layers of fabric. “Say it out loud. How bad you want me to fuck you.”

“I want it so fucking bad my balls ache,” Ryan rasped, voice cracking. “Want your cock stretching my ass. Want you to use me like the hole Claire said I am. Hard. No mercy.”

“Christ.” Errol’s hands slammed onto Ryan’s hips, yanking him flush. “I want to fuck you raw. Want to feel that tight virgin shit gripping me while you moan like a slut. Want to breed you so deep you taste it.”

Their mouths crashed together—open, desperate, all tongue and teeth. No softness. Errol shoved his tongue deep, claiming, tasting beer and hunger, while Ryan moaned into it and sucked back hard. Hands went frantic. Errol’s rough palms skated down Ryan’s back, cupped the full curves of his ass through the thin shorts, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Fingers dug into the cleft, pressing the fabric into his hole. Ryan bucked, grinding their cocks together, already leaking more precum that soaked through.

“Feel that?” Errol growled against his lips, nipping the lower one bloody. “That’s what you do to me. Been hard since you brought those beers out looking like pure fuckmeat. This ass—” He squeezed again, spreading the cheeks, “—is gonna ruin me. Soft. Round. Perfect for pounding.”

Ryan’s fingers fumbled at Errol’s belt, yanking it open, shoving the jeans down just enough. Errol’s cock sprang free—thick, veined, heavy, the head already slick and flushed dark. Ryan wrapped both hands around it, stroking the burning length, thumb smearing the wetness. “Fuck, you’re huge. Gonna split me open.”

“That’s the plan.” Errol shoved Ryan’s shorts down in one brutal yank. They hit the floor. His bare cock slapped up against Errol’s, both leaking, both throbbing. Errol fisted them together, stroking rough and fast, the friction raw and perfect. “Look at these married balls. Full. I told you that load’s mine.” He spit into his palm, worked it over both shafts, the slick sound filthy in the quiet cabin. “Gonna empty them down your throat first. Then I’m flipping you over that table and burying every inch in your ass until you can’t walk straight.”

Ryan’s hips snapped. He kissed Errol again, messier, tongues sliding, teeth clashing. One hand stayed on that massive cock; the other raked down Errol’s chest, pinching a nipple hard. Errol hissed and shoved two thick fingers between Ryan’s cheeks, rubbing over his hole—dry, insistent, circling the tight pucker.

“Already twitching for it,” Errol muttered. “Hungry little slut. Claire knew what she was doing letting me at you.” He pushed the tip of one finger in, just to the first knuckle. Ryan clenched and groaned, the stretch burning sweet. “Yeah, open up. That’s it. Feel me inside already.”

They stumbled sideways, still kissing, still groping. Ryan’s back hit the wall. Errol pinned him there with his full weight, chests grinding, cocks trapped and leaking between their bellies. He fucked his finger deeper, curling it, while his other hand kept jacking them both in a slippery fist. Ryan’s moans turned high and broken. He spread his legs wider, rocking down onto the intrusion, chasing more.

“I need you to fuck me,” Ryan gasped when they broke for air. Spit connected their lips. “Right now. Don’t wait. Bend me over and wreck me. I want to feel it for days. Want Claire to see the bruises when she gets back.”

Errol’s eyes went black with it. He pulled his finger free, spun Ryan around, and shoved him face-first against the wall. Pants fully shoved down, he ground that thick cock along Ryan’s crack, the fat head catching on the hole with every roll of his hips. One hand snaked around to choke Ryan’s dick; the other spit again and pushed two fingers straight in this time, scissoring hard.

“Past the fucking point,” Errol snarled into the back of his neck, biting down. “You’re mine tonight. This ass is open for business and I’m the only customer. Feel how easy those fingers go? You’re gonna take my cock just like that—greedy, stretching, begging for more.” He added a third finger, twisting, pumping deep enough to brush Ryan’s prostate. Ryan shouted, cock jumping in Errol’s fist, a thick spurt of precum painting the wall.

Ryan pushed back harder, fucking himself on those fingers, balls drawing tight. “Do it. Fuck me. Please—I can’t wait. Stick it in. Breed me.”

Errol yanked his fingers out, lined up that dripping head, and pressed. The pressure was massive, blunt, already forcing the ring to give. He held there, teasing, hips twitching like he was seconds from slamming home. Ryan’s hole fluttered open around the tip, desperate, both of them panting like animals. Outside the lake lapped steady. Inside, the only sound was their harsh breathing and the wet slide of Errol’s cock kissing that untouched entrance, ready to bury itself to the root and finish what Claire had blessed into motion.

Errol held the fat head of his cock right there, kissing Ryan’s untouched hole with slow, torturous pressure, feeling the ring flutter and try to suck him in. Ryan shoved back hard, desperate, a broken moan tearing out of him as the burn edged closer to splitting him open. But Errol only laughed low against the sweat-slick nape of his neck and pulled away completely.

“Not yet, pretty boy. Not against this fucking wall.” Rough hands spun Ryan around, yanked his shorts the rest of the way off, then grabbed a fistful of short dark hair and forced him to look up. “I want that lake air on your skin when I wreck you. Want the water hearing you scream. Grab the lube from my bag by the door—Claire’s little welcome kit—and get your ass outside. Now.”

Ryan’s legs shook as he obeyed, cock slapping heavy against his stomach, already leaking a clear string that swung with every step. He found the small bottle, heart hammering, and stumbled barefoot onto the porch while Errol kicked off his boots and jeans completely. Naked, massive, that thick veined cock bobbing in front of him like a weapon, Errol herded him down the short path to the weathered picnic table that sat half in the pines, half overlooking the silver water. Dusk was bleeding purple across the lake. Crickets started up. The air smelled of pine resin and wet earth and pure sex.

“Bend over. Hands flat on the table. Ass out.” Errol’s voice was pure gravel command. Ryan did it instantly, chest pressed to the rough wood, legs spread wide, hole clenching on nothing in the cooling breeze. He felt filthy and perfect and exactly where Claire had sent him. Errol dropped to his knees behind him without warning.

Hot breath first. Then a broad wet tongue dragging from Ryan’s balls all the way up the cleft, sloppy and hungry. Errol spat right on the hole and buried his face, eating him like a starved man—loud, filthy, tongue fucking deep while his beard scraped the sensitive insides of Ryan’s thighs. Ryan cried out, fingers clawing the table edge, pushing back onto that invading tongue. Errol growled into him, hands spreading the cheeks wider, thumbs holding him open so he could dive deeper, spit running down Ryan’s balls and dripping onto the dirt. He sucked at the rim, spit again, pushed his tongue in and out in filthy wet thrusts until Ryan was shaking and babbling.

“Fuck—Errol—your mouth—Jesus Christ—”

“Tastes like a man who’s never had this,” Errol snarled between licks, voice muffled against the spit-slick hole. “Claire’s good little husband with a hungry fucking cunt. I’m gonna ruin it.” He stood suddenly, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, slicked his cock with a rough pump of lube, and lined up. No more teasing. He drove forward in one brutal, steady thrust, splitting Ryan open to the root.

Ryan’s shout cracked across the water. The stretch was massive, burning white-hot, every thick inch forcing his body to yield. Errol didn’t stop until his hips were flush, heavy balls pressed tight against Ryan’s. He held there, breathing hard, letting Ryan feel every pulse of that buried cock.

“Take it. Fucking take all of me.” Then he started moving—raw, aggressive, hips snapping hard enough that the picnic table jolted and creaked. Standing doggy, Errol fucked him deep and relentless, one hand braced on Ryan’s lower back, the other reaching around to stroke his leaking cock in the same brutal rhythm. Skin slapped wet. Ryan’s moans turned into broken grunts with every thrust that dragged across his prostate. He pushed back to meet them, hole gripping, greedy, the burn melting into pure full-body need.

“Harder,” Ryan gasped. “Use me—fuck, Errol, breed that hole—”

Errol answered with a snarl and a deeper angle, pounding so the table legs scraped dirt. Sweat flew. The lake lapped louder as if it were watching. He fucked like he owned every inch of Ryan’s body, raw construction power rolling through every slam, until Ryan’s legs were trembling and his cock was jerking untouched in Errol’s fist, precum painting the ground.

Without warning Errol pulled out, spun him, and shoved him down onto the thick blanket he’d dragged out earlier—spread right there on the pine needles beside the table. Ryan landed on his back, legs hauled up and open. Errol climbed between them, slicked up again, and drove back in missionary, folding Ryan nearly in half so he could stare down into his face while he wrecked him.

Chest to chest, sweaty, grunting, Errol’s dense body hair scraping Ryan’s smoother skin with every thrust. He set a hard, driving pace, hips pistoning, cock punching deep. Their mouths crashed together—teeth, tongue, shared spit—while Errol’s hand found Ryan’s cock again and stroked him in time. Both men were loud now, animal grunts and wet skin sounds filling the lakeside air.

“Look at you,” Errol growled against his mouth. “Married hole stretched around my cock. Taking it like you were built for it. Gonna paint you when I pull out. Want Claire to see my cum drying on your chest when she gets home.”

Ryan’s hands clawed Errol’s back, nails leaving red trails. “Do it—fuck—I’m close—stroke me harder—”

Errol hammered faster, sweat dripping from his beard onto Ryan’s face, both of them locked in the raw grind. The blanket bunched under them. Ryan’s cock throbbed in that rough fist, balls drawing tight. Errol’s rhythm stuttered. He yanked free with a wet sound, rose up on his knees between Ryan’s spread thighs, and stroked himself hard and fast while his other hand kept jacking Ryan.

“Cum,” Errol ordered. “Shoot for me. Now.”

Ryan arched off the blanket with a shout, cock pulsing thick ropes across his own abs and up onto his chest, hole still fluttering open and empty. The sight ripped Errol over the edge. He came with a deep guttural groan, painting Ryan in heavy white stripes—across the trembling abs, up the heaving chest, one thick shot catching a nipple. They stayed like that, panting, cum cooling on skin, lake breeze licking the sweat.

Errol didn’t collapse fully. He kept stroking lazily through the last dribbles, smearing his own release into Ryan’s spent cock, eyes dark and still hungry. Ryan lay wrecked beneath him, hole twitching, heart slamming, already feeling the ghost of that thick cock and the promise that one load wasn’t going to be enough. Outside the cabin the night was just getting started, and somewhere Claire was waiting for every filthy detail of how thoroughly her blessing had been used.

They stayed locked in that wrecked sprawl on the blanket, chests heaving, skin gleaming under the thickening dusk. Sweat ran in rivers down Errol’s back and dripped from his beard onto the cooling stripes of cum he’d painted across Ryan’s torso. Ryan’s hole still fluttered open, loose and slick, every pulse sending fresh aftershocks up his spine. His own release mixed with Errol’s, sticky white ropes plastered from navel to collarbone, already starting to dry in the lake breeze.

Errol braced on one forearm and lowered his mouth. The kiss came slow this time—filthy, thorough, tongues sliding lazy and deep like they were tasting the raw aftermath. Ryan moaned into it, lips swollen, sucking Errol’s tongue, sharing the salt of sweat and the faint bitter edge of spent cum that had splashed near his mouth. Errol’s free hand smeared through the mess on Ryan’s chest, rubbing it into the sparse hair, thumb circling a nipple until Ryan twitched and groaned.

“Fuck, look at you,” Errol muttered against his lips, voice gravel-rough. “Covered in me. Hole wrecked. Exactly how Claire wanted her man.”

Ryan’s laugh came out breathless. He dragged his nails lightly down Errol’s sides, feeling the hard muscle jump. “I’m still shaking. That cock of yours is a fucking weapon. I can feel every inch you left behind.”

Errol grinned, slow and dirty, then pushed up onto his knees. He reached down, gripped Ryan’s wrist, and hauled him carefully to his feet. Ryan’s legs wobbled; the stretch in his ass burned sweet and deep, a constant reminder. Cum dripped down his thighs. Errol steadied him with a thick arm around his waist, both of them naked and filthy under the pines.

“Come on, pretty boy. Lake’s right there. Let’s rinse this off before it cakes.”

They stumbled barefoot down the short slope, laughing when Ryan nearly tripped over a root. The water hit cold against overheated skin. Ryan yelped, then whooped as Errol yanked him in deeper. They went under together in a splash of silver and spray, bodies colliding, limbs tangling. When they surfaced, laughing hard, water streaming off hair and beards, Errol pulled him close again. Hands slid over slick skin, washing the cum away in lazy strokes, fingers dipping briefly between Ryan’s cheeks to clean the mess there. Ryan hissed at the sensitivity, then shoved Errol playfully so they both went under again.

They swam lazy circles in the cooling water, moonlight starting to silver the surface. Ryan floated on his back, cock soft now but still heavy, the ache in his hole a perfect throb. Errol surfaced beside him, water beading in the dense chest hair, and kissed him again—slow, tasting lake and leftover sex.

“Better?” Errol asked, voice low.

“Yeah. But I’m starving. And I already want you back in me.”

Errol’s laugh rumbled. “Greedy. Good. Let’s feed that stomach first.”

They climbed out dripping, grabbed the blanket, and wrapped it around their shoulders as they headed for the cabin. Inside, Errol pulled on just his jeans, low and unbuttoned. Ryan found clean shorts. They moved around the small kitchen like they’d done this a hundred times—Ryan digging steaks from the fridge, Errol firing up the old grill out on the porch, the charcoal catching with a whoosh of heat and smoke. Night insects sang. The lake lapped steady. Somewhere far off an owl called.

Ryan brought out plates, two cold beers, and the bag of charcoal salt Claire always insisted on. They stood side by side at the grill while the steaks seared, fat dripping and flaring. Errol’s hand kept finding Ryan’s lower back, thumb stroking the base of his spine, possessive and easy. Ryan leaned into it, interior thoughts spinning: Claire’s face when he told her, the way she’d get wet hearing how Errol had split him open right there by the water, how he’d begged for it harder. He could already feel his cock twitching back to life just from the memory and the solid heat of Errol next to him.

“Medium-rare, right?” Errol flipped the meat with a practiced turn of the tongs.

“Yeah. Perfect.” Ryan cracked both beers, handed one over. Their fingers brushed. “You fuck like you grill—no half measures.”

Errol snorted, took a long pull. “You took it like you were built for exactly that. Claire knew. Smart woman.”

They carried the plated steaks back to the picnic table—now wiped clean of earlier evidence—and sat across from each other under the porch light. Knives sank into seared crust. Juices ran. They ate with their hands half the time, grease on fingers, talking around mouthfuls. Ryan’s ass shifted carefully on the wooden bench; every movement reminded him of the thick cock that had owned him hours earlier.

“So,” Ryan said after the first steak was half gone, voice quieter, “Claire’s back in three days. Meetings wrap Thursday night, she’s driving up Friday morning.” He met Errol’s hazel eyes across the table, heart kicking harder. “I want you here again before that. Not just once. I want to feel you every night she’s gone. Want to be sore when she walks in so the first thing I tell her is still fresh.”

Errol set his fork down, leaned forward, elbows on the table. The porch light caught the water still beading in his beard. “You asking me to ruin that hole every night till she gets home?”

“I’m asking you to own it.” Ryan’s cock was fully hard again in his shorts, pressing obvious against the fabric. “Come back tomorrow after work. And the day after. Fuck me in the cabin, on the dock you just fixed, in the lake if you want. Breed me so deep I walk funny. Then when she’s pulling into the driveway I’ll still be leaking you.”

Errol’s smile turned pure filthy heat. He reached across, smeared a thumb through the steak juice on Ryan’s lower lip, then pushed it into Ryan’s mouth. Ryan sucked it clean without breaking eye contact.

“Tomorrow,” Errol said. “I’ll finish the last railings by noon. Then I’m walking straight through that unlocked door, stripping you bare, and bending you over the kitchen counter first thing. After that we move to the bed. I want to take my time stretching you open slow, make you ride me till your thighs shake. Then Friday morning, before she shows, one more round—hard and fast so you’re still marked when she kisses you hello.”

Ryan’s pulse hammered in his throat, his hole, everywhere. He could already picture it: Errol’s construction-rough hands, that heavy cock opening him again and again, the lake air carrying their noise. Claire’s wicked grin when he spilled every detail while she stroked him. The freedom she’d handed him felt like fire in his blood.

They finished the steaks in charged silence, grease and beer and want thick between them. Errol stood, collected the plates, then pulled Ryan up by the front of his shorts so their bodies pressed flush. The hard ridge of Errol’s cock dug into Ryan’s hip through denim.

“I’m gonna clean up,” Errol murmured against his ear. “Then I’m staying the night. No arguing. I want that ass available if I wake up hard at two a.m.”

Ryan nodded, already aching for it. “Stay. Use me whenever. Claire’s blessing covers all of it.”

They moved inside together, the night wrapping warm around the cabin. Later, after dishes and another slow, cum-slick fuck bent over the arm of the couch—Errol driving deep while Ryan clawed the cushions and came untouched—they collapsed tangled in the big bed, sheets kicked down, bodies still damp. Moonlight striped the floor. Ryan’s head rested on Errol’s chest, listening to the solid thump of his heart, feeling the ghost of that thick cock still stretching him open even in sleep.

Dawn would bring more. Tomorrow and the next day. Planning the exact hours already felt like another kind of heat—precise, filthy, inevitable. Errol’s fingers traced lazy circles on Ryan’s hip, dipping occasionally to press against the tender, used rim.

Ryan tilted his face up, voice rough with exhaustion and leftover lust. “You really gonna come back every night and wreck me like that until Claire’s headlights hit the driveway?”