Aj Alexander’s tattooed, muscular frame pins David Luca to the couch, his fist buried deep as the lean, shaved-headed man gasps around it. James Oakleigh kneels behind, his mouth locked onto Luca’s throat while his fingers probe the tight hole, the strap holding him steady. The air fills with thick, desperate sounds as Luca’s body arches between them, his face flushed with the pressure of two men working him at once.
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