Billy Baval stands gripping Mathieu Lafitte’s hips as he pins him to the bench, his knuckles white where they dig into the smooth, dark hair. Lafitte arches back, his muscular torso straining against the wood, mouth open in a breathless gasp as Baval’s fingers slide between his thighs. The air hums with the wet sound of lips meeting skin, the bench groaning under their weight as Baval’s grip tightens, pulling Lafitte closer.
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