Silver Steele kneels in the wet sand while Andre Donovan towers over him, gripping his hips hard as he drives deep with slow, deliberate thrusts. The sun glints off Steele’s slicked-back dark hair as Donovan’s muscular arms flex, his grip bruising where he holds him down. The waves crash nearby, but the only sound is the wet slap of flesh against flesh, the way Steele’s breath hitches when Donovan pulls out just to slam back in harder.
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