Brad Star’s tattooed arms flex as he leans over Cliff Jensen, gripping the gym mat with his head thrown back, his biceps straining against the black tank top while Jensen kneels behind him, fingers already tracing the sweat-slicked dip of his spine. The air hums with the weight of his grip as Cliff’s hands slide lower, pulling Brad’s ass apart before pressing his mouth to the tight, glistening hole. No words, no hesitation, just the rough press of lips and the first slow, deliberate thrust of a tongue.
By Suite703
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