Scott Carter grips Bastian Karim’s hips, his beard rough against the clean-shaven jaw as he pins him into the green sash, then slams into his ass without warning. The muscles in Karim’s back ripple under Carter’s hands, his breath ragged as the first deep thrust splits him open. No foreplay, just, unrelenting fucking, the sash the only thing holding Karim steady while Carter’s grip tightens on his shoulders, his own weight pressing down.
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