Max Konnor’s thick arms coil around Wesley Woods as he drives deep, the dark-skinned, tattooed top gripping the bottom’s hips hard enough to bruise. Wesley’s broad shoulders flex under the weight, his knuckles whitening where he braces against the wall, no bed, no softness, just, relentless thrusts. The air hums with the wet slap of flesh, his hole stretched wide around Max’s cock.
