Tom Taylor adjusts his shirt over a muscular chest marked by a bold tattoo, his dark hair framing a face that shifts from restrained to unguarded as he strips, first the fabric, then the last barrier between his body and the frame. The desk behind him holds nothing but papers and a laptop, but his hands move with purpose, fingers tracing the edges of his own skin before he leans into the pose, one hip jutting forward as if daring the viewer to look closer. The swans in the paintings behind him watch, silent witnesses to the slow, deliberate reveal.
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