Ollie’s swallows.
And Wes curls around his head, his legs losing strength. His knees become wobbly, and this is it. No matter what happens, something has got to change. And it does. Ollie’s arms are now bands on his upper thighs.
It’s not enough.
Ollie’s fingers are teasing Wes’s inner thighs. Wes wants to scream. He can’t. Wes is panting too hard, so a needy, desperate whine leaves his lips instead. He wants more.
The new position, though, exposes his ass to the air. And to the wind. And his movements take on new shades of desperation. Wes feels the air on his exposed ass which contrasts so frustratingly great with the heat around his c**k.
Another swallow.
Wes moans long and hard. Ollie has told him about this, makes Wes clean and prepped. That’s great, that’s—but to feel it’s…Wes
