Rub Me Right

Connor Maguire takes charge in the dim glow of the bedroom, his body commanding the sultry dance with Jackson Taylor, a lithe figure starved for every inch. Jackson's skin gleams smooth, his slim frame etched with perfection—hair tousled just so, ass cheeks firm and flawless. They stand bare, locked in an embrace, lips crashing together. Tongues invade mouths, thrusting deep, a hungry duel of desire. Jackson drops to his knees, his tongue tracing Connor's cock with deliberate slowness, lips sealing around the shaft in a masterclass of suction. His cheeks hollow, ruddy with effort, as he draws out moans from Connor. Those wide doe eyes lift, seeking praise, and find it in Connor's grip—fingers twisting into Jackson's hair, forcing the cock deeper down his throat. Connor sinks into the chair, and Jackson straddles him, impaling himself on that rigid length for a ride that teases like sin. His ass clenches impossibly tight, unyielding, not a ripple as he grinds in wicked circles. Connor surges up, hoisting Jackson midair, pounding into him with raw power. He hurls Jackson onto the bed, driving home until gasps erupt into a noisy, breathy release. Drained, Jackson kneels once more, sucking Connor to the edge—a wet, pulsing climax flooding his eager mouth.