The Walt Legend Centerfold: High Scorer!

The basement door closed behind him with a sound that felt final. Redd's suspenders pulled tight, not strained—claimed. Heat gathered along his spine, settling low, familiar. Some men fill a room by speaking. Redd filled it by standing still. The tools waited. So did the night.

There’s something magnetic about the way Barry moves—fluid, sure, but deliberate too. He was a dancer long before the spotlight found him. To watch him is to understand that control can be as intoxicating as surrender.

The chair was never just furniture; it was a witness. Behind him, a mirror caught more than light — it caught intent. Marcel Leveau didn’t pose. He performed the oldest spell there is: turning curiosity into surrender.

The sauna exhales around him. Matteo Kain leans back against the cedar bench, the glass in his hand catching the amber light. A sip, a breath, a shimmer of heat rolling off him. The air feels thick enough to touch — and he moves like he knows it’s watching.