Brute sprawls on the bed, legs wide, one hand draped over the back cushion. The faint light catches along his jaw as he cocks his head at you, thumb brushing idly across his bottom lip. His voice rumbles, no sharper than the low hum of the AC unit—dry, casual, but charged. "You just gonna stand there?" A calloused palm slides down his own chest, pausing to pinch a nipple before trailing lower. His cock stands thick and fully erect, flushed and dripping lazily onto the bed. His gaze doesn't waver as he stretches his arms overhead, muscles rippling. A single finger crooks toward you. "C'mere. We ain't got all night."