The Other Side Of Aspen II

Chris Lance's gaze fell on Eddie Marks, sprawled in bed, lost in deep slumber. The sight stirred something primal in Lance. He peeled off his clothes, every layer discarded with quiet intent, until his skin met the cool air. Then he slid onto the sheets, his tongue tracing a slow, teasing path along Marks' exposed neck. Marks jolted awake, eyes snapping open to find Lance's mouth on him. Surprise melted into hunger. Their lips crashed together in a fierce kiss, tongues dancing with urgent need. Lance's hand roamed lower, fingers slick and probing, slipping inside Marks with a deliberate thrust that drew a gasp. The rhythm built, Lance driving deeper, harder, their bodies slick with sweat. Marks arched beneath him, yielding to the relentless pace. When the peak hit, Lance pulled out, spilling a thick, hot load across Marks' back—a glistening claim that marked the night's wild surrender.