The friction between their bodies was absolute, a suffocating, lawless heat. Malcolm was completely pinned back against Dahmer's chest, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal as the hard, rigid length of the Enigma's shaft pressed directly into the seam of his buttocks through the thin silk of his sleep shorts.
Before Malcolm could draw a single defensive breath to curse him, Dahmer's hand shot forward. His palm slid down the flat, tense plane of Malcolm's lower abdomen and clamped brutally around the front of his crotch.
Malcolm's entire body violently buckled.
