Ludovic Canot pins Robbie Ireland down on the couch, his dark hair framing a face pressed into the fabric as fingers dig into the back of his thighs. Robbie kneels between his legs, tongue tracing the tight ring while Canot’s grip tightens around his hips, pulling him closer. The couch bears the weight of their movements, the only surface holding them as one works the hole with slow precision, the other’s mouth locked onto the other’s throat.
By Suite703
