Trent Summers grips Christian Ace’s hips, his fingers digging into the smooth muscle as he drives into him hard from behind, the couch groaning beneath them. The dark hair of both men is slick with sweat, one shirt discarded, their bodies pressed together in a rhythm that leaves Christian’s breath ragged, his ass clenching around Trent’s thrusts. The only sound is the wet slap of skin, the sharp intake of air when Trent’s grip tightens, pulling Christian forward just before he comes.
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