Justin Dean’s tattooed, muscular frame towers over Brad Steele as he pins him against the deck, their mouths locked in a rough, open-mouthed kiss. Brad’s hands grip Justin’s shoulders while he arches into the pressure, his own tattoos visible through the thin fabric of his shirt. The air between them is thick with the sound of skin meeting skin, their bodies moving in sync as Justin’s grip tightens around Brad’s waist.
