Ian Levine grips Dolf Dietrich’s hips, his tattooed arms flexing as he drives into him hard from behind, the blond’s clean-shaven jaw tight with focus. Dolf moans around Levine’s cock, his dark hair framing the couch where he’s bent over, fingers tracing his own hole before Levine takes over, his muscular grip leaving marks. The rimmed lips part under Levine’s tongue, then his cock, each thrust deeper than the last.
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