Marc Dylan kneels over Scott Hunter’s back, his dark hair framing a mouth that takes Hunter’s cock deep while Hunter’s fingers dig into the couch cushions. Hunter’s smooth, muscular chest rises as he grips Marc’s hips, pulling him harder against his own body, the weight of their bodies pressing the couch into the floor. Their hands move, one stroking Hunter’s shaft, the other tracing wet circles around his asshole before slipping inside. The air thickens with the sound of skin slapping, the wet pop of lips sealing around flesh, and the low, guttural exhale of a man who’s already lost control.
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