Alex Santana drives into Paul Walker with rough, relentless thrusts while his fingers dig into the other’s hips, holding him down as the bed creaks under their weight. Paul’s head tilts back, his mouth open as Santana’s tongue sweeps over his throat before his lips seal around the thick cock, teeth scraping just hard enough to make him groan. One hand grips the sheets, the other braced against Santana’s chest as he rides the deep, unbroken strokes, his breath ragged against the tattoos sprawled across Santana’s ribs.
