14 parts Ongoing He strokes himself with his eyes closed, and there he is-laid out in front of him, thighs parted, skin slick with desire.
He imagines his hand sliding up that throat, feeling the shiver rise under his palm before tightening just enough to draw a gasp.
His mouth would follow-hungry-down that taut chest, licking, biting, until a rough moan spills out. He knows how that body would respond: the way the hips would lift, aching for more, when his tongue moves lower, so much lower, tasting that salty, trembling skin.
And those eyes... those 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 eyes drowning in pleasure, staring back at him with that kind of yielding that would drag a growl from his chest.
He sinks deeper into it-deeper into the vision-imagining his fingers there, buried to the knuckles, while the other writhes beneath him, lips swollen from begging too long.