Donny Forza sits forward in bed, his tattooed arms flexing as he grips his own cock with rough, deliberate strokes, his dark hair falling over his forehead in the close-up. The room fades around him as he leans into the motion, fingers working fast, his face twisting with the force of it. On his side, he stills for a moment, breath sharp, before rolling back to the same relentless grip, his hole clenching at the edge of release. Every movement is, every expression unfiltered.
