James Jones and Paolo Mickey

James Jones grips Paolo Mickey’s hips, his shaved head close enough to feel the rough pull of his beard as he slams into him from behind, fingers digging into the taut muscles of his ass. Paolo Mickey arches back, his hole stretched wide as Jones’ cock pounds deep, the air thick with the wet slap of skin and the desperate gasp of his mouth around Jones’ wrist, fingering him raw while his tongue traces the tight ring of his asshole. The rough grip of their bodies, the way Jones’ tattooed forearm cuts across Paolo’s back, leaves no doubt: this isn’t just fucking, it’s taking.