Salva Torre grips Dean Monroe’s hips while he kneels, his tattoed arms flexing as he tongues the tight hole of his partner’s ass. The kitchen counter holds Dean’s cock, slick with spit, as Salva’s fingers work his entrance before taking him deep with a rough, unhurried thrust. The vest and tie slip away, leaving only the wet sounds of flesh and the way Dean’s breath hitches when Salva’s grip tightens around his throat.
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