Home Grown

In the golden haze of an afternoon, Michael D'Amours pulls Max Holden close, their lips crashing together with urgent hunger. Max's hands roam Michael's broad chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle before dipping lower. Michael groans, hard and ready, as Max drops to his knees on the sun-warmed rug. Lips part, tongue swirling around the throbbing head, Max takes him deep—sucking with a rhythm that builds like a gathering storm. Michael's fingers tangle in Max's hair, guiding the slick slide, breaths ragged and raw. They shift, bodies slick with sweat; Michael flips Max onto all fours, thrusting in with a single, claiming stroke. Max arches, moaning low as Michael pounds harder, hips snapping in perfect, relentless sync. Pleasure coils tight, exploding in gasps and shudders, their afternoon stolen in a blaze of raw, unyielding heat.