Lane Axton stretches across the couch, legs splayed wide as his fingers dig into the cushions, the light hair on his chest catching the light while his pale skin glistens with sweat. He rolls onto his back, arms flung behind his head, before flipping onto his stomach, legs spread, ass lifted, before finally pulling off his clothes, leaving nothing but the slow, deliberate work of his own hands. Every position is deliberate, every shift a promise of what comes next.
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