He doesn’t seem to be doing that at all as he sputters and stares at me as if I’m an alien.
The commotion gets closer and he seems to be on the verge of a meltdown.
It’s then I realize he’s probably freaking out about the prospect of being found in this position.
I step back and he stares at me with wretched eyes that make me want to grab his hand and drag him the fuck out of here.
But that would probably make him lose it.
My eyes skim over the multiple hickeys I left on his torso and collarbone, then I lift my shirt over my head and throw it at him.
I seem to be taking off my shirt for this guy more often than not. Whenever I’m wearing one, at least.
His fingers latch onto the material and he mechanically pulls it on. It’s big on him, but he looks fucking edible in it.
New kink unlocked.
“Thanks,” he mutters like such a well-mannered gentleman.
He’s always expressing his gratitude whenever I do the most benign gestures, like dropping him off at home, handing him his AirPods, or when I tell him to watch out for traffic.
I like to think that’s his way to make up for all the shit his mouth spouts on a regular basis.
Lotus flower casts one last lingering glance at me, his expression reverting back to normal, but a smidge of hesitation lurks in his gaze.
I wait for him to say something, but he breaks eye contact and slips past me to his conversing teammates.
I stand there, my cock protesting and my muscles tensing.
This was supposed to be a little game, but I don’t think I’m playing anymore.
The worst part is that I feel like I’m already losing.