Marc Ruffolo’s thick, dark hair falls forward as he grips Phil Jarreau’s hips, fingers digging into the tight, slick flesh while his cock drives deep. Phil’s mouth seals around Ruffolo’s shaft, tongue swirling against the vein-pulsing length before he pulls back to gasp, lips glistening with spit. A hand slides between them, fingers probing the tight hole, stretching it open before Ruffolo slams into him again, the couch groaning under their weight. Their faces twist in need, breath ragged as Ruffolo’s grip tightens, each thrust harder than the last.
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