Redwood Ranger

Rob Lynn crept up from behind, seizing Bruce Daniels in a grip like iron. He dragged his prize back to the house, bound the man's hands tight, and hoisted him from the rafters, leaving him dangling and exposed. Lust surged in Rob; he craved that blond booty, ripe for ruin. With a savage shove, he hurled Bruce onto the bed. He tore the shirt away in one brutal yank, baring a torso carved from muscle, dusted in a sleek mat of black hair, slick with sweat's glistening beads. Rob dropped low then, priming that ass with his tongue—lapping, probing, teasing the tight ring until it yielded. Both cocks stiffened, swelling thick and unyielding, pulsing with raw need. Rob aligned himself, plunging his shaft deep into the conquered stud's asshole. He started slow, each thrust a deliberate claim, savoring the heat's velvet clench. Then fury took over—fast, hard, relentless. Momentum coiled like a spring, tension ratcheting to a scorching fever, bodies slamming in primal rhythm.