Cole Connor pins Darenger McCarthy against the hood of a mechanic’s car, his beard rough against the other’s throat as he drives into his asshole without hesitation. The garage’s tools lie scattered around them while McCarthy grips the edge of the car, his dark hair falling over his face as Connor’s tattooed hands dig into his hips. No foreplay, just the wet, sloppy sound of a fist pumping into his hole, fingers already working the tight ring while his mouth is lost in the other’s beard. The only warning is the way McCarthy’s breath hitches when Connor’s cock finally slams home.
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