Take Me Home

Kris Lord fastens the cold steel of the handcuffs around his wrists, the click echoing like a forbidden promise. He leans back against the shadowed wall, his breath quickening. With a firm grip, he takes himself in hand—slow at first, deliberate strokes that build a fire low in his belly. The restraints bite just enough to sharpen every sensation, pulling taut as his muscles tense. He works himself harder now, hips bucking into his fist, chasing that raw edge where pleasure twists into something primal. Sweat beads on his skin, and he groans, the sound raw and unfiltered, until release crashes over him in hot, shuddering waves.