Malibu Heat

Roman Heart sinks into the club's plush table, letting the air hum with anticipation. Tyler Saint, all chiseled muscle and knowing grin, oils his palms and digs in. Firm strokes chase knots from Roman's shoulders, gliding down his back, thumbs pressing deep into the curve of his spine. Tension melts, but heat builds—Tyler's hands roam bolder, tracing thighs, brushing the swell of his ass. What starts as release twists into something electric, cocks stirring under the pretense of therapy. Tyler's breath quickens. He spreads Roman's cheeks, tongue diving in like a thief in the night, lapping at that tight, hidden rim with greedy swipes. Roman arches, a low groan escaping. Tyler shifts, mouth claiming Roman's thickening shaft—sucking hard, tongue swirling the head, drawing out gasps that shatter the quiet. Roman thrashes, craving the full force of this hunk. He flips, yanks Tyler close, and swallows his rod whole, lips stretching around the veined length, bobbing with urgent rhythm. Then Tyler mounts him, pounding deep and relentless, bodies slapping in slick frenzy. Climax crashes over them—Roman spills first, ropes of cum painting his chest, Tyler pulling out to unleash his own hot flood across that spent form.