Mario Costa kneels over Angel Rock’s spread legs, his tongue tracing the tight ring while Rock’s hands grip the sheets, hips lifting into the slow, deliberate pressure. Costa’s dark hair brushes the sheets as he works, his fingers slick with Rock’s slickness, teasing the entrance before slipping inside. Rock arches, his smooth, muscular body straining as Costa’s mouth seals over his hole, sucking hard. The bed creaks under their weight, the only sound the wet, rhythmic sounds of lips and fingers working in tandem.
