Andy Rodrigues Does Bastian Karim In Barcelona
An abandoned garage in Barcelona reeks of rust and gasoline, but the real danger crackles between Bastian Karim and Andy Rodrigues. Tasked with recruiting the hung specialist for Spain’s biggest heist, Bastian’s hands don’t linger on Andy’s waist for protocol—they yank his shirt over his head, fingers trailing the ridges of his abs. Andy smirks, spreading his arms wide. “Search me,” he taunts, muscles tensing as Bastian’s palms glide down his thighs, hunting for hidden weapons—or excuses to touch.
The strip becomes a seduction. Andy’s jeans pool at his ankles, his girthy cock jutting free, veins throbbing like a war drum. Bastian drops to his knees, not to check boots but to swallow that thick shaft whole, his tongue lapping at the crown as Andy grips his hair. “You’re enjoying this,” Andy rasps, hips bucking forward, but Bastian’s only reply is a hum that vibrates down his throat.
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Clothes shred—Bastian’s vest hits the concrete first, Andy’s boots kick his pants aside. Then they’re skin-to-skin, Bastian’s chiseled torso grinding against Andy’s as their mouths fuse. The cold ground bites Bastian’s back as Andy flips him, lubing his ass with spit before plunging inside. Bastian’s groan echoes off cracked walls, his legs locking around Andy’s waist as the specialist pistons into him, balls slapping raw.
When Andy pulls out, his cock glistens with sweat and lube. Bastian’s on his knees, staring up as ropes of cum blast his face—hot, thick, relentless. Andy’s breaths ragged, Bastian licks his lips, smirking. “Ready for the heist now?”
