Eddie Patrick lounged on the worn leather couch in his apartment, the faint hum of the city buzzing through the open window. Damaged Bottom — DB to his friends, a nickname earned from too many wild nights—straddled Eddie’s lap, their lips locked in a hungry kiss.
DB’s hands roamed Eddie’s broad chest, tugging at the fabric of his T-shirt, while Eddie’s fingers gripped DB’s hips, pulling him closer. The air crackled with tension, the kind that promised things were about to get messy.