Harry Vakker’s blond, smooth hands grip Nathan Dale’s hips while he drives deep, his fingers digging into the slim waist as the cock slides in and out with wet, rhythmic force. The air fills with the sharp, salty taste of cum as Nathan’s head tilts back, his throat working around the thick, pulsing length. No words, just the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and the wet, greedy sounds of a cock being taken hard.
