Coach Bator grips Jay Davis’s hips, his beard rough against the dark hair on his chest as he presses his mouth down hard on his throat, fingers already sliding deep into his hole. The shaved head leans in, tongue lashing at Davis’s lips while his tattooed arm wraps tight around his waist, pulling him flush against the bed. Davis moans low, his own hands gripping the sheets as Bator’s fingers curl inside him, then drags his tongue slow along the crack of his ass. The air thickens with the wet sound of lips sealing, the rough scrape of beard against skin, and the way Davis arches back, offering his hole open.
