Rem Dimartinz strokes his cock

Rem Dimartinz grips his thick cock hard enough to make his knuckles whiten, his bearded jaw clenched as he pumps it slow and deliberate, the veins bulging under his tattooed forearms. Leaning against the couch’s armrest, his legs spread wide, he lets his free hand trail down his chest before circling back to the base, his dark hair falling forward as he works himself with a mix of rough control and deep, measured strokes. The couch’s brown fabric bears the faintest creases from his weight, but his focus never wavers, just the cock, just the grip, just the way his breath hitches when his fist slides past the head.