Connor Maguire grips Woody Fox’s ass while he kneels in the dirt, fingers probing deep into his hole as the woods press in around them. Fox arches into the touch, his chest rising hard against the rough bark of the tree behind him, while Maguire’s mouth trails down his neck, teeth grazing the pulse. The blue shorts ride low, barely covering the thick thighs that clamp around his partner’s wrist.
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