Jackson stretches across the couch, his chest hair dark against fair skin, fingers tracing his thigh as he leans forward with a slow, deliberate grip on his own ass. The couch dips under his weight, legs splayed wide as his hand lingers near his groin, then slides down to cup himself, muscles taut, every movement deliberate. Close-ups catch the rough texture of his chest, the way his fingers dig into his thigh, the, unfiltered pose of a man alone with himself.
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