Benard was on splayed knees with his torso dipped, spine arched and ass arched up.

His elbows jutted out at the sides, forearms resting flat with his left wrist draped over the right.

His chin rested on the back of his left palm, chest bucking forward on repeat, nipples rubbing against the mat.

Lucas was kneeling behind the brunet, hands on the latter's hips.

His own hips swung back and forth with profound dedication. As if ramming that trembling ass crucial to world salvation. The sound of skin determinedly clashing against skin echoed in the arched corridor.

And Benard wasn't shy to let out salacious moans—even begging for more and...