Johnny Donovan’s tattooed, muscular frame grips his cock hard as he strokes himself with rough, deliberate strokes. Stevie Trixx watches from behind, his short hair slicked back, fingers tracing idle patterns on his own chest while Donovan’s hand works faster, his breath ragged. The only sound is the wet slap of skin against flesh, the two of them lost in the rhythm of their own release.
+20+19+18+17+16+15
