Martin Mazza kneels in the sunlit dirt, his tattooed arms flexing as he takes Steve Cruz deep into his throat, the blond’s fingers digging into the bamboo fence behind him. Cruz grips Mazza’s dark hair, his own knuckles stained as he guides the cock back in, the outdoor light catching the sweat glistening on their chests. Mazza’s tongue swirls around the head before he pulls back, only to replace it with his fingers, stretching Cruz open with rough precision.
