Bad boy Hakunabad is draped across a dimly lit stairwell. Smoke puffs from the corners of his luscious lips. His eyes are half closed; he barely hears, and hardly cares, about tattooed stud Romance’s anti-cigarette protests. That is, until Romance reminds him of where he is—it’s his gym, after all—and who he is.
« If you want to smoke on something, » he snatches the back of Hakunabad’s head and shoves it into the depths of his crotch, « then smoke on this. » Romance is the owner, and not just of the gym.
Nylon shorts are ripped away. Romance wears Hakunabad’s mouth out with his long, curved dick. He rims and eats out the bad boy’s big booty— slaps, spanks, and claims it. In just mere moments, Hakunabad is taken from defiance to moaning, whimpering ecstasy.
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