Max Flint and Sam stretch across a couch, one’s blond hair brushing the armrest while the other’s bearded jaw clenches around his cock, fingers already working the tight hole below. The slim, muscular body on top rides him hard, the slick sound of flesh meeting flesh cutting through the air as Max Flint’s name is written in ink on a card beside them. Sam’s tattooed forearm grips the couch edge, knuckles white, while the blond’s ass lifts to meet every thrust, the couch creaking under the weight of their urgency.
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