When I turned around, Graham was gone. Gay sex Again—and again, until he was crying my name. It had been a while since someone had looked at me that way. I sucked in a breath. I jammed my shovel into the soil. I relaxed into it, then rolled my eyes, annoyed with myself. They were six-footers. Either he was wearing a speedo beneath that housecoat, or he was nude. I grunted and clung on, cresting deep within him, each stream of cum that filled that condom threatening to rip through it. The varieties got mixed up by the delivery driver. I brushed my thumbs through the hair as I hung on. I brushed the hair away from his hole and sunk to my knees. The furrier, the better. If I screwed up, we would know next spring when the blooms came out. I knew that. The furrier, the better. My hand found its way behind the fabric of my briefs, taking a firm grasp of my cock.
