Mason Wyler’s smooth, muscular frame pins Jake Woods against the counter, his light hair catching the light as he grips the back of Jake’s robe. Jake’s hole glistens under Wyler’s fingers, already slick from the way he’s already been prepared. Their mouths crash together, tongues tangling as Wyler’s grip tightens on Jake’s waist.
+13+12+11+10+9+8
