Ricky Larkin sits on the couch, adjusting his shorts while his tattooed arms flex under the light skin, the woven texture of the fabric behind him. His bearded jaw tightens as he grips his cock, the white cloth in his other hand gliding over his length before he strips away the last barrier. Every stroke is deliberate, his fingers tracing the ridges of his shaft as he examines it, then works it with slow, sure pressure.
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