Glen Santoro’s beard scrapes Chris Hacker’s jaw as he grips his hips, fingers already probing deep while the other man’s mouth seals around his cock. The blond’s knuckles turn white where he pins Hacker’s wrists to the couch, his own thick shaft glistening with spit as he guides it home. The couch creaks under their weight, the angle sharp enough to make Hacker’s breath hitch before Santoro slams into him.
