Shane Frost’s tattooed, muscular frame dominates as he pins Andrew Jakk against the rough bark, his grip tight around the smooth, dark-haired man’s waist while his tongue forces its way past lips still slick with earlier kisses. The wooden bench groans under them as Frost’s fingers slide deep into Jakk’s hole, his knuckles pressing against the tight heat before his mouth seals over the straining cock, swallowing hard as the head hits the back of his throat. Water ripples nearby, untouched but close, just enough to remind you this isn’t just about hands and mouths.
More galleries
