Dillon Diaz grips a book between his teeth while Jake Waters kneels behind him, his fingers tracing the tight lines of Dillon’s ass as the shirt rides up. The dark hair on Dillon’s chest contrasts with the smooth skin of his back, pulled taut as Waters pulls him forward, the book slipping free. By the end, only the sound of their breaths and the wet smack of skin fills the balcony.
