Jerome Exupery’s beard scrapes Riis Erikson’s hole as he kneels between his thighs, fingers already slick with spit and the dark hair of his ass. Riis lies flat on his back, the light brown skin of his chest smooth against the pillow, while Exupery’s muscular arms brace him open, no condom, just the rough press of his cock against the tight ring before he pushes in. The rimming starts slow, tongue tracing the puckered edge before his fingers slide in, then his mouth follows, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. When he finally bottoms out, Riis arches into the stretch, gripping the sheets as Exupery holds him steady, his own breath ragged against the other’s ear.
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