BUNNY GUARD
The agency was rotting with scandals, people spitting out the word “harassment” like it was the only thing they knew. The head needed a distraction. That’s why he picked him—the recruit with the face of a star and the body everyone wanted to touch.
He put him in the silly bunny hat, stood him at the amusement park, and let the influencers eat it up. The “bunny guard” became a craze. People forgot the bad press and just wanted to stare.
But the head’s real reason had nothing to do with PR.
That night, the bunny guard came out of the bathroom wearing only bright briefs, his robe slipping off his shoulders. His skin glistened faintly from the shower, chest rising and falling slow and steady. He crawled into the bed, straddling the head without a word.
The head’s hands went straight to work—palms sliding over every inch of the young man’s torso. He traced the lines of his abs one by one, as if counting them. His fingers pressed into hard pecs, squeezing, then moving down to the tight ridges of his stomach. He kissed his way across, lips worshiping skin, breathing him in like he was some kind of prize.
The bunny guard tilted his head back, smirking, letting him explore. “You like this body, don’t you?” he whispered.
The head didn’t answer—just ran his tongue across the sharp cut of his hip, sucking at the warm skin, gripping his waist with both hands like he couldn’t get enough. He kissed his chest, his stomach, even the trail leading lower, as if every inch deserved attention.
By the time their mouths met again, the head was already trembling with need. The young man kissed him deep, then started grinding down, slow, deliberate. The heat between them grew unbearable.
The head grabbed him tighter, pulling him in, feeling the weight of his perfect body pressing down. His muscles moved like steel under skin, flexing with every shift. The head worshiped him with his hands, his lips, his whole body leaning into the young man’s strength.
And then, with their breaths ragged and their bodies locked, the act began. Slow at first, teasing, but then faster, rougher, the bed creaking with every push. The bunny guard drove into him with power, with rhythm, with a smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing.
The head clutched at him, groaning, gasping, worship turning into surrender. Every thrust, every movement was the proof—the bunny guard wasn’t just the agency’s mascot. He was a weapon, a body built for desire.
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