Eric Clayton stretches across the couch, his muscular frame bare except for faded blue swim trunks that cling low on his hips as he spreads his legs wide, fingers tracing the taut skin of his thighs. The tattoos on his arms ripple with each shift, his clean-shaven jaw set as he leans back, one hand sliding down to cup himself with deliberate, open-handed pressure. The couch cushions dip beneath him, legs bent and splayed in poses that tease and demand, each gesture a slow, unhurried claim of his body.
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