Ross' hands—still slick with oil—moved to his belt. The metal buckle clinked softly as he undid it, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
He popped the button of his pants next, dragged the zipper down with deliberate slowness, the rasp of teeth parting like a promise.
Anita's breathing hitched again; she hadn't lifted her head from the cushion, but her body had gone still, attuned to every movement behind her.
He shoved the waistband down over his hips in one smooth motion.
His cock sprang free—thick, heavy, already fully erect—and slapped audibly against the taut plane of his lower abdomen before settling forward, pointing straight at her like a weapon.
Fifteen inches.
Thick as her wrist at the base, veined prominently along the shaft, the head flushed dark and glistening with a bead of pre-cum that caught the low lamplight.
It bobbed once with his pulse, impossibly rigid, curving just slightly upward toward the swollen crown.
