Marco Pirelli grips Clint Harrlord’s hips as he kneels in the tub, his dark hair slick with water, while Harrlord’s fingers dig into the rim, holding on as Pirelli’s mouth seals over his cock. The tub’s surface ripples with each thrust, the water obscuring everything but the, wet pressure of Pirelli’s lips and tongue working Harrlord’s shaft. Harrlord’s breath comes sharp, his grip tightening as Pirelli’s free hand slides down, fingers curling around the base.
