Desert Hart

In the hush of night, Jake Andrews and Tyler Hill surrender to their hunger, mapping every curve and crevice of each other's bodies with eager hands and lips. Tyler drops to his knees, his mouth watering as he engulfs Jake's thick sausage, the engorged dick stretching his lips wide, filling him completely until he gags softly on the pulsing heat. Jake groans, threading fingers through Tyler's hair. Then roles shift—Jake kneels, offering his mouth as Tyler thrusts deep, fucking his face with urgent rhythm, saliva slicking their skin. They twist into a heated 69, bodies aligned in perfect symmetry, tongues and lips working relentlessly over throbbing shafts and sensitive sacs. Tyler rises, eyes locked on Jake's, and mounts him, impaling himself on that rigid tool with a sharp inhale. He bounces, riding hard and fast, muscles clenching around the invading girth. Pleasure builds like a storm. They shatter together, showering their torsos in hot, sticky loads that mingle in the dim light.