My lust-addled brain swiftly reached a conclusion; his jeans most definitely needed to come off.
The top button was undone, his snail trail running from his bellybutton and disappearing down, like an arrow pointing to the Holy Grail. The prize in question was currently
straining against its confines, and the idea that it was I who did this to him made me writhe underneath him.
"Please..." I begged, because this was what he had reduced me to.
My hands were captive above my head by one of his; every inch of his body was strategically plastered to my naked form, pinning me to his bed and creating a delicious friction when he shifted. Turning me into a begging, blubbering mess underneath him with the skill of an artist. "Please what?" He spat down at me. The cords in his neck were strained, his bronze hair was damp, his lips were swollen, his nostrils were flared and his eyes were black as pitch. His face would have been frightening if he hadn't spent the last forty minute...