Nick Clay’s thick cock juts out, veined and heavy, as Max Lorde kneels low, his dark hair framing the grip he takes, firm, deliberate, before swallowing deep. The tattoos on Max’s arms ripple as he bobs, his throat working around the shaft, while Nick’s fingers tangle in the back of his hair, guiding the pace. No hesitation, just the wet sound of lips sealing around the head, the way Max’s shoulders shift when he takes it all.
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