Jimmy Durano pins Beau Tucker against the couch, his grip firm on the dark-haired man’s hips as he guides him down, the red swim trunks barely containing the tension. Beau’s mouth opens under his, tongue meeting his with rough, hungry strokes while Jimmy’s fingers dig into the smooth, muscular back, holding him exactly where he wants. The couch creaks under their weight as one pulls back just enough to lick a slow, deliberate line from throat to collarbone, the other’s breath already hot against the skin.
