(mh=bQGCmItvBEWnPQJm)6.jpg)
The house echoes with silence, save for the soft, rhythmic sound of skin on skin. He's alone, but not lonely, not with the memories of her touch guiding his hand. His cock throbs in his grip, veins pulsing with life as he strokes, his breath hitching with each pass over the sensitive head. He imagines her here, her hands replacing his, her mouth, her cunt. The fantasy pushes him over the edge, his body tensing as he spills his seed, his voice a low growl as he claims his release, owning the moment, the space, the pleasure.