Buck Santiago’s calloused fingers grip his cock as he leans back against a couch, his muscles taut under the light skin, the gold-toned wall behind him barely breaking the focus on the way he strokes himself slow and deliberate. His dark hair falls forward as he spreads his legs, fingers already working his hole before the first touch of his own hand, the fireplace’s muted glow doing nothing to soften the intensity of the way he does it. Every pose, sitting, leaning, posing, keeps his body open, his movements unhurried, his pleasure unapologetic.
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