Joaquín Santana stretches across the bed, his muscular frame taut as he lifts his tattooed thigh to peel off his underwear, revealing the smooth skin beneath. The patterned sheets catch the light as he rolls onto his back, legs splayed wide, then flips onto his stomach, arching his torso to reach behind himself. Every pose is deliberate, every movement calculated, from sitting up with arms spread to lying on his side, exposing the curve of his ass. The only thing missing is the sound of his own breath.
