Vaughn yanks my shirt over my head and flings it away, and I do the same to his, unable to get enough of his body. It’s all sharp lines and symmetry, lean abs tapering into a sculpted waist. Even the moles—one near his navel, another by his chest—only make him more maddeningly perfect.
Are moles even supposed to be beautiful, or am I just too far gone?
Both.
Let’s just go with both.
I get distracted in my watching session, only realizing after a bit that his fingers are hesitantly exploring me, running over my chest, flicking a nipple.
The innocence of it all drives me wild.
I keep forgetting that I’m Vaughn’s first guy—technically his firstanything, and no, Danika doesn’t fucking count.
I love how focused he looks. His brows drawn, his lips parted, releasing shallow breaths, and I can feel his growing erection pressing against my thigh.
“Like what you see, baby?” I ask with a grin, then flex, and his eyes follow the movement, his nostrils flaring.
“You’re such an attention whore.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Is that why you work out and fight? To flex and attract people’s attention?” He unbuttons my jeans, and I help with his, then we both kick our shoes away.
“Maybe,” I say only because I know he won’t like it, and I get off on his reactions a bit too much.
Mostly because he usually doesn’t have any reaction.
I’ve seen him with his friends, with Danika—gag—and even seen pictures of him at events and parties. Vaughn is the definition of mechanical.
Too precise.
Too proper.
His face is a mask devoid of expression.
So I feel a sort of superpower when I drag out his anger, lust, and possessiveness.
Oh, and petty jealousy. He has that in spades.
“What did you just say?” He narrows his eyes as we both slip out of our pants and boxers, kicking them on the ground.
We’re chest to chest, fully naked, only surrounded by the silky sheet that he’ll totally throw a fit about being covered with cum later.
My chest thuds, and my balls hum at the feeling of his erection rubbing against my thigh. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sensation of his warm flesh pressed against mine.
Or the knowledge that he wants me as much as I want him.
Just kidding, I totally will. But I don’t believe I’ll ever view it as normal, because, fuck me all the way to hell, I never really liked justholdingmy fuck buddies.
With them, it was only physical. Wham, bam, andthank you very much, ma’am. But with Vaughn, the weight of his body flush against mine sends a thrill racing through me. It’s addictive.
And intense.
I’m already mourning the fact that I can’t have him like this every day.
Fuck distance. I don’t believe in that shit.
“I said maybe.” I feign innocence. “What can I say? I love the attention—mmmfuck!”
