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Summary
They’re rolling again. Jacob’s chest is pressed against him, his arm brushing against the exposed skin of Assad’s chest, while his hand wraps itself around Assad’s neck, holding him in place to his own liking. Jacob’s thumb begins to slowly stroke the side of his face and Assad grips his thighs tight together, willing himself to keep it professional.
Inhaling a deep breath, he reminds himself that he is a professional. He can do this.