Landon Conrad pins Seven Dixon beneath him, his tattoos shadowing the sheets as he drives his tongue deep into the other’s throat while his fingers probe the tight hole. Seven’s muscular frame arches under the pressure, his dark hair tangled with Conrad’s grip as the first wet sounds of oral work fill the room. Conrad’s dominant stance never wavers, his weight, his control, while Seven’s body responds, slick and ready, as fingers slip inside. The bed creaks under their struggle, the only sound the, unfiltered thrust of a man who won’t stop until he’s buried.
