Nicolas Ryder grips Ty Mitchell’s hips, his tattooed arms flexing as he slams into him from behind, the window behind them reflecting their sweat-slicked bodies. Ty’s dark hair falls forward as Nicolas rides him hard, his own muscular frame straining against the frame. Their lips crash together in desperate kisses, teeth clashing as Nicolas drives deeper, fingers digging into Ty’s waist. The only sound is the wet slap of flesh meeting flesh, the air thick with the scent of exertion.
