Angel Santi sits on the edge of the bed, fingers already tugging at his shirt’s hem before he even stands, the dark hair framing his face as he peels it off over his head. His smooth, slim body stretches across the patterned sheets, legs parting to reveal the way he grips himself, arms arching back as he leans into the weight of his own touch. The bed dips beneath him again, this time with one knee lifted high, the other bent to keep him open, his fingers tracing the lines of his own skin.
