The Barcelona Job

Sir Peter, the master thief, had already slipped millions in glittering jewels into his satchel, his heart pounding with the thrill of the heist. In the opulent shadows of Caio Rodrigues's mansion, soft footsteps betrayed him. Caio, blind without his glasses, stirred from his bed and mistook the intruder for his husband. He dropped to his knees, lips parting eagerly around Sir Peter's big, uncut cock, sucking with a hunger that sent shivers up the thief's spine. The warmth of Caio's mouth enveloped him, tongue swirling over the thick shaft, drawing out low, restrained groans. Surprised by the unexpected girth—thicker than memory allowed—Caio reveled in it, his body yielding as Sir Peter pressed forward. He took every inch, stretched wide and raw, fucked bareback with deliberate thrusts that built a feverish rhythm. Sir Peter's hands tangled in Caio's hair, guiding the pace until release crashed over him, flooding Caio's throat with a thick, pulsing load. Caio swallowed it all, savoring the salty heat. Only then, wiping his mouth and reaching for his glasses, did the world sharpen into focus. His priceless valuables? Vanished. Like a fox in the henhouse, Sir Peter had claimed his prize—and more.