Conner Mason’s broad, tattooed chest presses into Van Ryder’s smooth, dark skin as their mouths crash together, fingers digging into each other’s shoulders. Ryder’s muscular arms wrap tight around Mason’s waist, pulling him down until their tongues clash hard, while a lifeguard bucket sits abandoned on the bed between them. Mason’s grip on Ryder’s hip never loosens, even as Ryder’s own hands slide lower, teasing the space between them.
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