Grant Ducati grips Chris White’s shoulders as he slams into him from behind, the couch groaning under their weight while his fingers dig into the back of his neck, bareback, rough, and unrelenting. Chris moans around Ducati’s cock as it fills his throat, his hands gripping the armrests while Ducati’s tattoos ripple with every thrust, his breath ragged against the back of his head. When Ducati pulls free, Chris turns onto his side, fingers already working his own hole open before Ducati’s tongue hits the tight ring, then his cock, stretching him deep with slow, deliberate force. On the bed, Ducati’s bearded jaw clenches as he jerks himself off, watching Chris take it, hard, wet, and without stopping.
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