Manuel Skye grips Andrea Suarez’s hips as he drives into him hard on the deck, his tattoos glinting under the light while his dark hair falls forward. Their hands lock together, fingers tangled as Skye’s weight pins him down, the rhythm rough and unrelenting. The air between them is thick with the sound of skin slapping, the only movement the slow, deliberate thrusts that leave Suarez’s breath ragged.
