Dillon Buck grips Dean Monroe’s hips as he tongues his throat, the leather harness biting into his shoulders, while his fingers slide deep into the tight, clenching hole. Monroe arches back, his bearded jaw locked in a groan as Buck’s rough touch finds the spot that makes him gasp. The neon glow behind them pulses faintly, casting long shadows over the way his ass clenches around the probing digits.
