I want to mark him. I want to devour him.
My mouth trails lower, over the solid plane of his collarbone, down the center of his chest. I can feel the hard ridges of his abdomen clench beneath my lips as I make my way down his body. The clean, masculine scent of his skin, mixed with the faint fragrance of his shower gel, is an intoxicating drug.
I'm on my knees now, looking up at him. His eyes are black with desire, his breathing shallow. My fingers find the knot of the towel secured low on his hips. I don't fumble. I tug, and the terrycloth unravels, falling in a heap at his feet.
He is fully, magnificently exposed, hot and hard. Veins standing in relief along his length. The sight of him, of all that power and desire meant for me, makes my own need clench, a deep, throbbing emptiness begging to be filled.
I don't hesitate. I lean forward, my gaze locked with his, and take him into my mouth.
