Mateo Lanzi grips his cock hard, his dark hair slick with sweat as he leans against the wall, fingers tracing slow circles over his headboard. The bed’s edge digs into his lean frame while his other hand hovers just above his straining length, the outdoor graffiti wall and quiet wooded shots betraying the same restless need. Every pose, mirrored, by the water, against the stairs, ends with his palm brushing his own skin, the tension in his jaw the only sound.
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