Tom Chase grips Darin Hawk’s hips, his fingers slick with spit as he works the tight hole while Hawk’s head drops back, throat working around Chase’s cock. The mat beneath them is rough under bare skin, the outdoor light cutting through the trees as Chase drives deeper, his own breath ragged with the weight of it. Hawk’s fingers dig into the grass, his ass clenching around Chase’s thrusts, the air thick with the sound of flesh meeting flesh.
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