Zak Bishop pins Zario Travezz’s wrists above his head while his tattooed chest presses down, fingers probing deep as Travezz arches into the touch. The blond’s mouth seals over Travezz’s, tongue forcing its way past lips parted in a gasp. One hand grips a fistful of dark hair, yanking his head back just enough to expose the throat before Zak’s teeth graze the pulse.
