Paul Canon’s broad chest, inked with a jagged tattoo, pins Max Flint beneath him on the couch, his fingers already buried in the dark-haired man’s tight hole while his mouth seals over his throat in a rough, open-mouthed kiss. Max’s smooth, muscular body arches as Canon’s cock slams home, his own fingers working the other’s asshole with wet, deliberate pressure, both of them stripped bare by the time the first deep thrusts split the air.
