Nic Sahara straddles Josh Cannon’s lap, his tattooed chest pressed hard against the man’s mouth as he takes him deep, fingers digging into Cannon’s shoulders. The dark-haired, muscular pair move without pause, one’s tongue swipes over slick skin while the other grips the couch edge, breath ragged. The lap beneath them is slick with need, the only sound the wet slap of flesh and the sharp inhale of anticipation.
