Rhys Jagger pins Pip Caulfield’s hips down on the couch, his dark hair framing a face pressed into the curve of his throat while fingers dig into the tight, muscular ass. Pip’s mouth works over Rhys’s cock with rough, open suction, the sound of wet flesh slapping against skin filling the room. One hand grips the couch’s edge, the other slides between his own thighs, thumb pressing hard into the slick, stretched hole.
