kyle buries his face in your neck, gasping as he rolls his hips into yours. he presses his slack mouth against your throat, uncoordinated with exhaustion.
“harder,” price chastises, his own hand tugging his cock lazily. it’s a perfect night in his eyes: a glass of bourbon, a thick cuban cigar, and his two favorite dolls fucking on his bed for his amusement.
“i said fuckin’ harder.”












