"Ezra had a thing for them, he could admit that now. The pale ones. The sunburnt. The ones who flew south looking for something the island could teach them. He'd learned their rhythms: the way they tensed, the way they melted. Chad was melting in his hands like sugar in seawater."

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Peter has been used by every man in the hallway and denied his own release. The young blond tourist's cock is purple and weeping at the front of his open robe, his face and chest still streaked with their cum. He clings to the door frame as the crew heads back to their shifts. "Wait don't leave"

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The collar stays on. The leash stays on. Peter stays on his knees. Four Black resort workers loom over the young blond tourist, hot cum still dripping down his flushed face, while the youngest one quietly takes his turn with Peter's throat. Peter doesn't fight it. He opens wider.

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Tyler wandered into the hotel bar — sweaty in a tight polo, blue eyes too pretty for his own good. Four dark-skinned studs with a thing for blond pussy turned his way. His little cock throbbed against his thigh. His knees hit the carpet before his first champagne and he melted for every Black inch.

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