Rory Hayes stretches across the brown leather couch, arms behind his head as his tattooed arms flex against the fabric, red underwear clinging low before slipping off entirely. His dark hair falls forward as he lies back, legs spread wide, then raises them high to expose everything, no hesitation, just the, deliberate pose of a man who knows exactly what he’s showing. Every shift from sitting to sprawling, from bent to stretched, is a calculated display, his muscles rippling under the light as he owns the frame.
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