Chapter 7
Gabe threw himself onto the bed while Tom was cleaning up, and damn, he wished he had not done that, because his d**k ached and was sore. Even the soft sheets chafed. He rolled over onto his back and f**k, that was even worse. The cupping bruises were tender and painful—Tom’d driven Gabe to the absolute limit and he was bruised, tired, and had been stressed out even before they’d started playing.
Also, his mouth was still bleeding fitfully, and on his back, that meant it was dripping right down his throat, yuck.
Gabe shifted again, groaning with a million aches and pains, trying to find a comfortable position.
He managed to find a position that wasn’t too bad, curled up on his right side. He kinda wished, as he often did, that it was possible to take an arm off and hang it on
