Navon, Michal, Ron and George

Navon and Ron kneel between George’s thighs, their hands gripping his hips as he drives into them both, while Michal watches from the mat, his tie loosened around his neck. The blond’s fingers dig into Ron’s waist as he takes the first thrust, the dark-haired one already slick with precome, their mouths fused in a kiss that cuts off mid-sentence. The vest slides from George’s shoulders, discarded as he pins them deeper, the green mat staining with sweat and the wet sounds of three bodies moving as one.