Jay Mercer’s beard scrapes against Danny Montero’s throat as he grips his jaw, fingers digging into the smooth, corded muscles of his neck while Montero kneels between his thighs, tongue already tracing the seam of his lips. Mercer’s hand slides down to palm Montero’s chest, thumb pressing just hard enough to make his breath hitch before he guides two fingers inside, curling them deep. The bed creaks under Mercer’s weight as he shifts, pulling Montero closer, his mouth crashing down on his in a rough, open-mouthed kiss.
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