Dylan Knight, broad-shouldered and inked with a four-leaf clover on his shoulder, drives into Jimmie Slater’s tight hole while the blond, smooth-faced man below grips the sheets. His muscular arms flex as he takes every thick thrust, lips parted in a silent gasp as Knight’s fingers dig into his hips. The third man watches from the shadows, his shaved head gleaming under the blue-lit room, tongue tracing the blond’s cock with slow, deliberate strokes.
