Chapter 7

Aquila kept his weight on Jeffrey, shifting, and he ripped a condom packet open next to Jeffrey’s face.

“Prepared, huh?” Jeffrey rasped, eyes closing when Aquila hissed as latex slithered over a wide, uncut cock.

“There is always the hope,” Aquila said.

There was a protracted pause, a muffled curse in Spanish, and Jeffrey made a sound of pure frustration and anticipation when the slick noise of lube met his ears. He rolled against the desk, hips pulsing and entire body dying for it, dick bouncing into exactly nothing. His breath blew damply into his face, reflected off the polyurethane, and Aquila braced on his shoulder at the same instant pressure met his entrance. “Uh-huh,” Jeffrey breathed in heartfelt consent. “Yeah, oh, yeah.” Jeffrey’s voice was high and went higher in a broken whine when Aquila breached. Slow, slow, everything was too slow and too much of a stretch for an overwhelming second, and then Jeffrey’s body remembered, forgave, and demanded more.