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Ridge Michaels, lean and ripped, locks lips with Trace Kendall in a heated make-out that leaves no doubt about their hunger. These young studs devour each other, and the proof swells huge in Ridge's pajamas—a throbbing bulge demanding attention. He yanks it free, wraps his fist around the thick shaft, and strokes with deliberate rhythm. Trace matches him, his own stiff, massive cock springing from his pants like a challenge accepted. Ridge drops to his knees without hesitation, engulfing Trace's rigid length in one eager swallow. Trace reclines, savoring every slick pull, his chiseled six-pack tightening with each guttural grunt that escapes. Ridge works him masterfully, tongue swirling, lips sealing tight around the pulsing heat. Then Ridge stretches out flat, inviting Trace to claim his mouth from above in a push-up hover—thrusts deep and commanding. They tumble into a fevered sixty-nine, bodies entwined in mutual greed. Trace shines here, throat opening wide to bury Ridge's meat to the hilt, a sight that steals the breath. Tension coils fast. Ridge erupts first, ropes of cum splattering Trace's face in hot defiance. Trace follows suit, unleashing thick, creamy spurts that coat Ridge's features like a forbidden glaze. With a wicked grin, Trace laps it all clean, tongue tracing every drop, before they seal the chaos with a deep, salty kiss.