Gabe Krol kneels between Spencer Stone’s spread legs, tongue deep in his asshole as the dark-haired, muscular man arches into the relentless suction. The green sheet clings to their sweat-slicked bodies, but neither moves to cover it, just the, unbroken rhythm of Gabe’s mouth working Spencer’s hole, over and over, until the only sound is the wet slap of lips and the sharp inhale of air between thrusts.
