Troy Ryan’s lean frame pins Logan Cross against the backseat, his fingers tangling in the lighter brown hair as their mouths crash together. The gray tank tops ride up just enough to expose the smooth, slim skin where Troy’s weight presses down, his grip tightening around Logan’s waist as he guides himself inside. The car’s confined space makes every shift of his hips feel deliberate, the rhythm rough and unhurried as Logan’s breath hitches against his shoulder.
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