“I like it. I’ve…” He peeked at me through his lashes. “I’ve always had a weakness for red hair.”
“Do you really want to talk about hair color?”
“N-no.”
I brushed his hands out of the way and set about getting him naked, then backed a step to examine him. He made a move as if to cover himself, and I caught his wrists. “Don’t,” I breathed. “Nice.”
He was cut, and his c**k was hard, the head flushed with arousal. A drop of precome beaded at the tip. The muscles of his abdomen, a sculpted six-pack, rippled with each breath he took. The hair on his chest seemed to feather over his pectoral muscles, almost as if cupping them. I ran my fingertips over it to the trail that led down the center of his body past his navel. The hair that dusted his groin was almost black.
“Very nice.” I reached
