Tony Salerno’s tattooed arm grips Adam Russo’s hips as he presses his mouth to the tight, puckered hole, tongue probing deep while fingers stretch the asshole open. Russo braces against the counter, his muscular frame trembling as Salerno’s dark hair brushes his back, the kitchen countertop the only barrier between them and the couch where they’ll sink together. The tattooed arm flexes with every thrust of his tongue, marking the scene with a, unfiltered dominance.
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