The streets of New York are littered with people from all over the world, each person the main character of their own lifelong story that never ends. You never know what the person sitting across from you on the C train may be going through. They'll...
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..."You're not sick of me yet?" I ask softly. He furrows his eyebrows and frowns.
"What? Sick of you? Are you fucking kidding? Absolutely not. I'd even go as far as saying I've barely gotten enough of you." he looks at me like I'm insane. The red lighting floating around us is probably concealing my pink cheeks, but I still try not to hide it.
"In that case then, yes. I would love to do brunch." I agree.
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His smile reaches his eyes and he nods.
"Okay then. I should probably get up." he shifts under the blanket and pulls himself up, stretching his arms, flexing his muscles, making me drool. "Ah, fuck." he whispers under his breath.
"Feeling sore?" I tease, reaching for my phone. He snorts and chuckles, looking back at me with an amused grin. "I went through the same thing, wait till you stand up." I glance down at my phone. He slides down to the edge of the bed and stands up, letting the blanket fall to the ground, stretching out his whole body in a grunt.
Good god. I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from audibly reacting. I can't help but stare at the tattoos inked across his bicep and taut muscles on his back, drooling at his yummy little booty. I can't believe this is the man I had a taste of last night. He's delicious.
He glances back at me and catches my desire-filled, prying eyes on him. To which I immediately dart up to his gaze and smile bashfully. His lips spread into a smug grin as if to say "like what you see?"
Yes. I do. Very much.
"Yeah...I feel it." he says lowly. Our gazes linger for a moment before he walks over to his dresser and pulls out a new pair of boxer briefs. I rip my eyes away and let him get ready in peace, glancing back down at my phone to answer the follow up message from my sister.
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