Tyler Saint stands with his arms crossed, the muscles of his chest rippling under the light, while Francesco D’macho leans against the wall, his beard rough against his jaw as he watches. The kitchen behind them is bare except for the wooden cabinets, but the real focus is on how Francesco’s fingers trace the edge of Tyler’s waistband before slipping inside. By the end, Tyler’s shirt is discarded, his hole stretched open as Francesco’s cock drives deep, the two of them moving with a, unfiltered urgency.
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