Caleb's tiny chest swells with summer air as he lounges on the patio. In this moment of reprieve, the warm day slows down his thoughts and worries. His fair lashes flutter lazily —until a large shadow brushes over his peach face. The shadow belongs to Dr. Wolf, the tower-of-a-man who had, over the course of the past several months, eclipsed Caleb's heart and mind with lust. He dwarfs the ginger junior in stature, musculature, and masculinity. He circles around the small twink and reclines in the chair beside him. His mere presence flips a switch in the boy, and fills him with a heat far hotter than the rays of afternoon. The garden was Wolf's property. The view, the foliage, the courtyard, and the begging, panting boy pawing at his package—yes, he owns him, too. He has owned this bottom's body for several months now, repeatedly—in his office, in his country home, and now, in the garden of his estate...