Adrian Hart’s tattooed, muscular frame grips a yellow rope while Nic Sahara’s dark hair frames a face pressed close, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles over slick, glistening skin. The licking moves from deliberate to urgent, the rope cutting into Hart’s knuckles as Sahara’s body responds with tight, rhythmic thrusts. No words, no hesitation, just the wet sound of lips and the sharp pull of the bond.
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