Marco Napoli kneels before Dex Devall’s lap, gripping his thigh as the shaved-headed man leans in to claim his mouth, fingers digging into Napoli’s shoulder while Devall’s other hand trails down his chest, possessive and unhurried. The standing man’s muscular frame looms over him, his clean-shaven jaw close enough to taste, while Napoli’s grip on Devall’s arm tightens, fingers flexing against the white fabric clinging to his own body.
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