Helmut Huxley and Torsten Ullman pin Christian Lundgren between them, his muscular frame pressed into the bed as their dark hair frames the weight of their hands on his smooth skin. One grips his hips, the other traces his spine with rough fingers, their mouths crashing down in a kiss that leaves no room for breath. The way they hold him, firm, unyielding, makes every touch deliberate, every press of lips a promise of what comes next.
