Wolf Rayet’s beard brushes Marcus Ashton’s chest as he grips his waist, fingers sliding deep into the smooth, slim hole while Ashton’s lips lock around his cock. The leopard-print blanket clutches at their hips as Wolf’s tongue traces the head, his grip tightening when Ashton moans into the kiss. The muscular frame bends over the couch, ass raised, as Wolf’s fingers curl just right, no hesitation, just the wet, deliberate pressure of a hole stretched open.
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