Fernando Torreta stands shirtless against the wall, his dark hair falling over his shoulders as he stretches his muscular arms, tattoos on his left shoulder and upper arm sharp against the light. He leans back onto the bed, gripping himself with deliberate precision, his smooth skin taut over defined lines as he works himself. The blue sheet beneath him is the only thing between him and the frame, the focus never leaving his hands or the steady rhythm of his strokes.
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