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He’s the darkest of the trio, muscular and passionate, and tonight he was coming home early.
But he walks in and sees something he wasn’t meant to: his boy, on his knees, sucking off the one who always said “he wasn’t into guys like that.” The supposedly “straight” friend. The look of guilt flashes in A’s eyes—but it’s too late.
G doesn’t say a word. He walks over, hard already, and grabs him by the hair. The next few minutes are a blur. No kisses. No games. Just rage.
A gets pounded brutally, deep and unrelenting, right there while his “straight” friend watches, stroking himself, unsure if he should intervene… or enjoy.
The climax is raw and unplanned—Giuseppe cums inside without even meaning to, biting his lip, still moving. A few seconds later, R releases all over A’s face, lips slightly parted in that confused pleasure of a guy who says he doesn’t like dick, but keeps coming back.
And just when it seems like it’s over, A lets out a deep moan and sprays a thick load all over R’s face. He winces—but doesn’t pull away. His expression says everything: I didn’t ask for this… but damn.
