Philip Bradley plays with himself

Philip Bradley leans against the doorframe, his dark hair smooth against the light, before sinking onto the couch with legs spread wide. His muscular frame stretches across the patterned fabric as one hand slides toward his groin, fingers tracing the thick length of his cock before gripping it tight. On the bed, sheets white and crisp, he lies with legs splayed, stroking himself slow and deliberate, eyes locked down as his other hand rests heavy on his thigh. Every movement is measured, hands moving, cock swelling, until his grip tightens, the rhythm sharp and unhurried.