Dylan hesitated, glancing toward the backside but shaking his head. “Maybe I’ll see the ass another day,” he muttered, his curiosity pulling him elsewhere. The heat and scent of James’s groin called to him, a dangerous thrill he couldn’t resist. He moved toward the hip area, climbing upward along the coarse hairs of the happy trail. The waistband of the underwear loomed like a horizon, and with trembling hands, he pried it open.
A rush of warm, sweaty air hit him, thick with the musky scent of cock and pubes. Dylan’s head swam, but the raw intensity fueled him. “Here we go,” he whispered, a surge of energy propelling him forward. He climbed inside, and with a snap, the waistband shut behind him, plunging him into darkness. He stumbled, hands grasping at the tangled jungle of pubes to steady himself. The heat was intense, the air heavy with James’s scent.
His footing slipped, and he slid downward, landing at the base of James’s shaft. The massive, warm column of flesh pulsed faintly, and Dylan froze, heart racing. “Don’t move too much,” he told himself, wary of alerting James. The terrain was treacherous—soft, warm, and slightly slick with sweat. Every shift felt like it could rouse the giant. He took a slow, careful step, gripping the coarse hairs for balance.