Max Steele stands shirtless in sunlight and shadow, his lean frame flexing as he grips a frisbee, then drops it to sprawl across a couch, fingers tracing his own cock with deliberate precision. The tree outside frames him, the door behind him silent, while his dark hair falls just enough to hide the way his breath hitches when he rolls his hips. Every pose, from hands on hips to legs stretched out, is a slow unraveling of control, his body never still, never quite satisfied until he’s gripping himself again.
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