Ettore Tosi grips Damien Crosse’s hips, his knuckles flexing over thick muscle as the blond bends forward, no shirt, no hesitation. Damien’s ass clenches tight under that grip, his dark hair falling forward as Ettore’s fingers dig in, marking the stretch of his stretch. The air hums with the weight of their bodies, the only sound the rasp of skin against skin when Ettore finally pulls back.
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