Viktor Rom’s beard brushes against Manuel Skye’s mouth as he grips his hips, fingers digging into the dark hair framing his broad shoulders, while James Castle kneels behind, his tattooed arms locking around Skye’s waist to pull him back. The stone steps bite into their knees as Rom’s tongue drives deep, his grip tightening on Skye’s ass, while Castle’s hands slide up to grip the waistband of his pants, fingers already working the zipper. The night air does nothing to cool the heat of their mouths on each other’s skin.
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