Jack Spade’s tattooed, dark-haired frame pins Chris down, his grip bruising as he drives into him hard from behind, the couch groaning under their weight. Chris’s smooth, muscular back arches, his hole stretched wide as Spade’s fingers dig in, then his cock, thick and flushed, slams home with wet, brutal thrusts. The air thickens with the sound of skin hitting skin, the wet slap of lips sealing around Chris’s cock as Spade takes him deep, his own breath ragged against the back of his neck. One hand grips Chris’s hip, the other pulls his ass open, tongue flicking over the tight ring before Spade’s teeth close around it.
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