Fahrenheit

Adam Killian stands bare except for his clinging, soaked briefs, hose in hand. He blasts his car with water, then lathers it slow and deliberate. He climbs onto the hood, his lithe, muscled body gliding over the chilled, slick metal. He reclines against the windshield, sunlight bathing his skin in golden warmth. Pausing, he savors the moment—soaping his thick shaft, his furred chest, even his tight hole. His sculpted form sprawls wide open across the hood, hand pumping his cock with unhurried grace. He rolls over, grinding his bulging crotch against the glass, then presses his full, round ass cheeks to polish it gleaming. Suds coat him head to toe as he slides face-first down the hood, hips thrusting in rhythmic waves, humping his sleek sports car like a lover. He rinses the car clean, then himself, water cascading over every curve. Adam strokes his cock once more, the afternoon sun drying his skin to a taut sheen. He slips inside the car, engine purring low, and keeps revving his own piston—stroking hard, pulling faster. The frenzy builds until he erupts, hot ropes of cum splattering across his chest and abs.