Hot Pursuit

The memory hit David like a velvet hammer, pulling him back to that sultry night three years ago, when Jason Andrews first claimed him. They had crashed together in a dimly lit hotel room, bodies slick with anticipation. Jason's hands, strong and sure, roamed David's skin, mapping every curve and hollow with a hunger that bordered on reverence. He pinned David to the mattress, lips crashing in a kiss that tasted of whiskey and want. Jason's cock, thick and insistent, pressed against David's thigh, a promise of the storm to come. With a low growl, Jason thrust inside, filling David completely, stretching him to that exquisite edge of pleasure and ache. They moved as one, hips grinding in a rhythm both frantic and tender—Jason's fingers digging into David's hips, pulling him deeper, while David's nails raked down Jason's back, urging him on. Sweat-slicked and breathless, they peaked together, Jason spilling hot inside him as David shattered around him, waves of ecstasy crashing through them both. But dawn brought silence. Jason slipped away without a word, leaving David tangled in sheets that still carried the scent of their passion. That sweetness, that raw connection, etched itself into David's soul, a ghost he couldn't exorcise—driving him now to hunt Jason down, to reclaim what vanished too soon.