It is in no way visually apparent that Beecroft is one of the most popular and beloved authors in the rapidly expanding male/male romance genre, a defining feature of which is explicit gay male sex. Her home reflects a daily bustle of family activity: framed pictures of adorable blonde children, various craft supplies crowded on tables, stacks of handmade wicker baskets, rosebushes thriving in the backyard. Īlex Beecroft, the writer of this raunchy encounter and a happily married mother of two with short red hair, picks me up in an old Volvo wagon at the train station in her tiny, green Cambridgeshire town. Gathered up in both arms, his head back, astonished and all the more aroused by his own deep surrender, he felt Alfies knuckles dig hard into his back as the man snapped the tapes at the back of his waistband and shoved the suddenly loosened breeches down to his knees. Alfies mouth was on his and sweet fire pulsed down his backbone as he opened to Alfies questing tongue. His trapped cock hurt, bent and straining against the heavy, harsh fabric of his breeches. Alfie raked fingernails gently across one of his nipples, his other hand pushing aside Johns neckcloth so that he could pepper Johns throat with little bites.
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