Cade Maddox, broad-chested and inked across his ribs, pins Brett Warner beneath him on the bed, his grip firm as he drives into him with slow, deliberate thrusts. Brett’s fingers dig into the sheets while Cade’s mouth seals over his throat, the suction sharp and unrelenting. Before that, his tongue traced the seam of Brett’s lips, then slipped inside, while a calloused hand worked between his thighs, fingers slick with anticipation. The only sound is the wet slap of flesh meeting flesh, the two of them locked in a rhythm that leaves no doubt about who’s in control.
