Rico Fatale stretches across the white curved chair, his dark hair falling over his tattooed chest as he leans back with effortless ease, muscles rippling under the light. Damien Crosse stands behind him, gripping the back of the chair with one hand while the other traces a path down his spine, fingers pausing just before they reach the taut skin of his ass. The air hums with anticipation as he positions himself, the weight of his body pressing forward.
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