Brogan Reed pins Justin Stone’s hips down with a grip that leaves no doubt who’s in charge, his knuckles digging into the pillows as he drives into the dark-haired bottom’s tight hole. The hairy chest flexes with every thrust, the muscles straining as Justin Stone arches back, his fingers tangled in the sheets while Brogan’s tongue laps at the puckered ring before the first deep, wet plunge. The only sound is the slap of flesh and the wet, rhythmic thrusts that make the pillows tremble.
