Over Elis’s ribs and stomach, Latham’s touch grew light, careful of the bruises. His nails skimmed the line of pubic hair. Elis’s c**k gave a needy flex. He clenched his jaw tight to stop a frustrated moan. He wanted to touch his c**k, wanted to relieve some of the pressure. He clasped his hands firmly behind his head and chewed his bottom lip to stay quiet.
Latham’s hand slid further down, thumbs drawing parallel lines along Elis’s inner thighs, just brushing the tight skin of his balls.
“f**k!” Elis ached for friction, just the smallest amount, anything. Latham’s hands held him firmly in place, waiting. Elis drew in small, steadying breaths through his teeth. Latham continued, his slow hands driving Elis insane. They moved around Elis’s hips until Latham cupped two meaty handfuls of hi
