Porter Wescott’s beard scrapes Josh Conners’ jaw as he pins him against the wall, fingers digging into his chest while their mouths crash together. The dark-haired, smooth-skinned man beneath lets out a rough groan as Porter’s grip tightens, his own hands clawing at the fabric of the other’s shirt. Curtains blur behind them as the weight of his body presses down, the air thick with the sound of skin meeting skin.
