Marco Antonio lies spread-eagled on the bed, his tattooed arms flexing as Rafael Carreras kneels between his thighs, tongue deep in his mouth while Joaquin Santana traces his fingers through the dark hair at his temple. Pol Prince stands at the foot, gripping the sheets as Rafael’s lips slide down Marco’s chest, his own cock already slick with anticipation. The air hums with the wet sound of suction and the slow, deliberate press of a finger inside Marco’s hole.
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