"Yes." His hips ground against Conor's hand. The rush settling into Byron's blood, his body hard with the sticky blood drying from the quickly closing wounds. His hand moved quicker over Conor as his own molten lava boiled in the pots of his stomach.
He wanted the moment to last, but also needed the release so he could seek it again. Byron intended on keeping Conor until well into the day; his trailer sealed from sunlight. Another moan growled passed his lips, his breathing shallow and head as light as helium.