Benard's arms were bent at the elbow while he leaned on the window ledge. His right elbow was placed on top of the other.

His head was inclined, eyes slumped, and his slightly parted lips were pressed to the skin of his right wrist as he emitted low, repressed moans.

His spine was curved into an arch, his feet planted apart just enough, and his knees slightly bent forward.

His asscheeks sensually tilted upward as he kept moving his hips backwards at an unhurried, deliberate pace.

His fuckhole repeatedly gulfed more than half of his buddy’s shaft each time he drove his hips rearwards.

Lucas had his left hand bunched...