In Henrietta, nobody might have believed that Joseph Kavinsky got off on shit like this, not just the rough uncaring brutality of it (which might have been guessed), but that being the bottom left him a shivering, needy mess in no time at all. He squirmed and whined softly, inelegantly shoving his hips back even as John dragged him back to meet every thrust.

His mouth set in a manic grin, he squeezed around John’s cock a little.

“Probably not the only stranger tonight, if I can help it.”