Lars nearly face-planted over a fucking root – smooth move, stud. The world swam slightly, edges blurred by aquavit and lust. Through the silvery birch leaves, shimmering like ghosts in the weird twilight, he saw Sofia and Klara, practically draped over each other, sharing wine and secrets. Klara looked up, cheeks flushed bright pink, eyes sparkling with mischief (and probably cheap wine). Sofia just smirked, that infuria...

Fuck words, seriously. Erik’s cock was already trying to bust out of his jeans as he stumbled towards the jetty, the air buzzing with more than just those annoying Swedish mosquitoes. Lars and Anders stood there, looking like something out of a moody painting against the ridiculously romantic twilight sky over the lake. Anders turned, and his eyes… Jesus. They practically stripped Erik naked right there on the spot. Preda...

The air was thick with the scent of pine needles, damp earth, and the sweet, heavy perfume of wildflowers blooming riotously under the relentless Swedish Midsummer sun. Erik breathed it in deeply, leaning against the weathered railing of the cabin porch, a half-empty bottle of beer cool against his palm. Coming back here always felt like stepping into a slightly different reality, one where time slowed down, the light lin...