Breaths. Gay porn No no no.I turned to run, tripped, ate sand, scrambled back up. Got it?”I didn’t answer. Wasn’t easy to catch. Athletic. Just because your steroid-looking body’s bulkier than mine doesn’t mean I don’t hit the gym. No surprise. “Fuck, delicious virgin ass.”“Brad. We made an S.O.S. “Seriously?”He squinted at me, face pale and crusted with salt. Not a cold drink but a beer. His hand landed on my thigh.“The fuck are you doing, Brad?” I muttered, shoving his hand off.He didn’t answer. He’d stepped in.Just great.Now I felt weirdly self-conscious. My hands gripped his back without thinking, clawing. Bradley ate most of them, talking about how he needed to “keep his muscles fed.”I didn’t even argue. I haven’t had a real meal, a cold drink, or—” he glanced at me, smirking in that way that made me want to punch him, “—a bitch to fuck.”I stared at him.“Dude.”“What? No boats. Math required calories and I was too hungry to think about numbers. Fuck, every time I hit your spot, you’re hole clenched around me. It looked like garbage but we called it home.The bags were a mixed haul.
