Jonah Fontana pins Jackson Grant down, his beard rough against the other’s throat as he sucks hard on his throat before dragging fingers through the dark, wiry hair around his asshole. The standing man kneels, gripping the couch’s edge while Fontana works his hole with a slicked orange prop, the tension thick between the way Jackson arches into it and the way Fontana’s tattoos flex as he shifts his weight. Their mouths crash together again, tongues tangled as fingers dig into Jackson’s hips, pulling him closer to the edge.
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