Michael Boston grips the hood of the car while Dante Colle kneels on the seat, his fingers already working the other’s cock as he leans in to take it deep. The tattoos on Boston’s chest flex as he arches back, his breath hitching when Colle’s mouth seals around him, the car’s metal biting into his thighs. Colle’s own cock stands rigid between them, slick with precome as Boston’s hand wraps around it, fingers sliding slick against the head before pulling him into a rough kiss.
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