The air in the room was still, thick with a tension I’d never felt before. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, so loud I was certain Alex could hear it. He just lay there on my bed, propped up on his elbows, a soft, patient smile on his lips. His shirt was off, tossed carelessly onto my desk chair an eternity ago. The invitation in his eyes was clear.
“Go on,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated straight through me. “I don’t mind.”
My breath hitched. This was it. I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly, and let my fingertips graze the skin of his forearm. The touch was electric. Soft. The hair there was fine, a downy golden dusting that caught the lamplight. I traced the length of his ulna bone, a cartographer mapping a new, breathtaking continent. This is real. He’s letting me do this.
I moved higher, to the swell of his bicep. The texture changed completely. Here, the hairs were coarser, darker, curling tightly against his skin. I splayed my fingers wide, pressing my palm against the firm muscle beneath. A low, appreciative hum escaped his throat, and the sound went directly to my groin, a sharp, pleasant ache beginning to settle there.
My gaze drifted upward, over the defined planes of his pectorals, and my mouth went dry. His chest was a masterpiece. A swirling galaxy of dark, coarse curls spread from the center, arcing over firm muscle and tapering into a thinner trail down his sternum. It was wild and utterly masculine. I had to touch it.
I lowered my head, my own pulse roaring in my ears. I dragged my open palm across his chest, feeling the springy resistance of the curls, the incredible heat of his skin beneath. The scent of him—clean sweat, deodorant, and something uniquely, primally Alex—wrapped around me. I was intoxicated. Without thought, driven by a need I barely understood, I leaned closer and pressed my lips to the hollow of his throat.
His skin was faintly salty. I licked a slow, tentative stripe upwards. Taste. The flavor exploded on my tongue, a musky, addictive essence that was purely him. Alex shuddered beneath me, a full-body tremor, and his head fell back onto the pillow with a soft thud. His breath stuttered out in a sharp exhale.
Emboldened, my hands continued their journey south, skating over the hard ridges of his abdomen. His muscles jumped and clenched under my touch, a beautiful, involuntary dance. My fingers found the dark line of hair that led from his navel downward—a treasure trail begging to be followed. I followed it with the very tip of my index finger, down, down, through the gentle dip of his navel, until I met the waistband of his jeans.
He was watching me through heavy-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. I hooked my fingers into his belt loops. “These,” I whispered, my voice rough with a desire I no longer recognized in myself. “Can I?”
“God, yes,” he breathed, lifting his hips to help me. The denim scraped against my knuckles as I worked the button, the zipper, each sound obscenely loud. I tugged his jeans down his hips, revealing the tight white underwear beneath. The jeans pooled at his ankles, leaving him in nothing but a pair of high, tight white underwear that clung to his skin like a second layer. The fabric stretched taut over the curve of his ass, and I couldn’t help but run my hands over the smooth, cotton-covered skin, feeling the firm muscle beneath.
The contrast was striking—the stark white against his tanned skin, the way the fabric emphasized every line and curve of his body. My fingers traced the waistband, teasing along the edge where skin met fabric, and Alex let out a low, shuddering breath. He shifted slightly, his legs parting just enough to give me better access, and I could see the outline of his cock pressing insistently against the thin material.
I ran my fingers into the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down slowly, inch by torturous inch. The sight of him fully bared took my breath away. His erection sprang free, thick and throbbing, the head already glistening with arousal. The dark thatch of pubic hair framed him perfectly, a wild, untamed contrast to the smoothness of his shaft. I let the underwear fall to the floor, my eyes drinking in every detail.
Alex lay there, completely exposed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watched me with heated eyes. The trust in his gaze, the way he allowed himself to be so utterly vulnerable before me, sent a wave of emotion crashing through me. I wanted to memorize every inch of him, to make sure this moment was etched into my memory forever.
My hands returned to his thighs, stroking gently, feeling the warmth and strength beneath my palms. His thighs were powerful, dusted with a soft, almost velvety coating of hair that thickened as it traveled downward. The texture changed as I moved to his shins, where the hair grew sparser and rougher. I took my time, worshiping every inch, learning the landscape of him. He let out a shaky sigh, his legs falling open just a little, a silent offering.
The scent of him intensified, a musky, raw aroma. My eyes were drawn to the dark shadow of his armpit. It felt like the most intimate frontier yet. I gently guided his arm above his head, baring the area completely. The hair here was thick, damp, a dark, curling forest. I bent my head, inhaling deeply. His scent was concentrated here, earthy and potent, and it sent a jolt of pure lust straight to my cock, which was now straining painfully against my own jeans. I nuzzled into the damp curls, my nose and lips brushing the sensitive skin, and Alex moaned, a raw, unfiltered sound that shattered the last of my restraint.
I had to see. I had to touch. My gaze travelled back down his body, past the tense muscles of his stomach, to the dense, dark thicket of his pubic hair. It was a wild, springy coil of curls surrounding the rigid length of his erection, which lay heavy against his thigh. I could smell him here, too—a deeper, more arousing version of the scent from his armpits: Arousal, musk, man.
I plunged my fingers into it. The coarse texture was a shock, springing back against my palm as I cupped him, feeling the heat and the weight of his cock against my wrist. He bucked his hips up into my touch, a strangled gasp catching in his throat.
My journey wasn’t over. I had to know all of him. I nudged his hip, and he rolled onto his stomach without a word, the trust in the action making my heart swell. His back was broad, tapering down to a narrow waist and then… his ass – two perfect, muscular curves, covered in a finer, lighter dusting of hair. I ran my hands over them, squeezing gently, learning their shape and firmness.
Then, my thumb found the deep cleft between them. The hair here was so fine it was almost like silk. I traced the line downward, a slow, purposeful journey into the heart of him. He was breathing in ragged bursts now, his fists clenched in my sheets.
My thumb pressed gently, just there, at his most intimate entrance. The skin was impossibly soft, hot.
Alex gasped, a sharp, broken sound, and his back arched, pushing himself against my hand. “Jake…”
The way he said my name—a plea, a surrender, a revelation—unleashed something feral in me. My exploration was over. This was no longer about mapping; it was about claiming.