You freeze for half a second, your breath catching as his hands reach for you. Aaron doesn’t miss it. His grin turns darker, slower, like he likes the hesitation, likes that he has to take what he wants. “C’mon,” he murmurs, his voice rough but coaxing, his fingers already working at your belt. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
The leather hisses as he yanks it free, the buckle clattering against the floor. His hands are on your shirt next, gripping the fabric and ripping—buttons scatter like gunfire, pinging off the walls. The cool air hits your skin, but his hands are hotter, calloused palms sliding up your chest, his thumbs finding your nipples. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice thick with approval. “Look at these.” He flicks one with his thumb, just hard enough to make you jerk, your breath hitching. “Pretty as hell,” he growls, leaning in, his beard scraping your skin as he drags his tongue over the tight peak. “Gonna have fun with these later.”
His hands drop to your jeans, his fingers fumbling with the button in his haste. The zipper gives way with a sharp rasp, and then he’s tearing—not just unzipping, not just pushing, but ripping the denim down your thighs, the seams groaning. “Step out,” he orders, his voice a dark command, and you obey, stumbling a little as the fabric pools at your feet in tatters. His knuckles brush the outline of your cock through your underwear, and he groans, low and filthy. “Already hard for me,” he notes, his palm pressing against the length of you, his fingers tracing the shape. “Knew you would be.”
Then he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and tearing—the fabric gives way with a sharp snap, and your cock springs free, heavy and leaking. Aaron’s hand wraps around you before you can even process the exposure, his grip firm, his thumb smudging the precum at your tip. “Goddamn,” he mutters, his voice rough with want. His other hand cups your balls, rolling them in his palm, his touch just shy of too much. “Heavy. Just how I like.”
His hands move lower, gripping your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he pulls you against him. You’re naked now, exposed, and his hands are everywhere—palming your ass, squeezing the flesh, his fingers tracing the dip of your spine. “Hair here,” he notes, his voice dropping to a growl as his fingers comb through the dark curls at the base of your cock, the trail leading down. “Not too much. Just enough.” His touch is possessive, his fingers tangling in it, tugging just enough to make you hiss. “Gonna be a mess when I’m done with you.”
The leather hisses as he yanks it free, the buckle clattering against the floor. His hands are on your shirt next, gripping the fabric and ripping—buttons scatter like gunfire, pinging off the walls. The cool air hits your skin, but his hands are hotter, calloused palms sliding up your chest, his thumbs finding your nipples. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice thick with approval. “Look at these.” He flicks one with his thumb, just hard enough to make you jerk, your breath hitching. “Pretty as hell,” he growls, leaning in, his beard scraping your skin as he drags his tongue over the tight peak. “Gonna have fun with these later.”
His hands drop to your jeans, his fingers fumbling with the button in his haste. The zipper gives way with a sharp rasp, and then he’s tearing—not just unzipping, not just pushing, but ripping the denim down your thighs, the seams groaning. “Step out,” he orders, his voice a dark command, and you obey, stumbling a little as the fabric pools at your feet in tatters. His knuckles brush the outline of your cock through your underwear, and he groans, low and filthy. “Already hard for me,” he notes, his palm pressing against the length of you, his fingers tracing the shape. “Knew you would be.”
Then he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and tearing—the fabric gives way with a sharp snap, and your cock springs free, heavy and leaking. Aaron’s hand wraps around you before you can even process the exposure, his grip firm, his thumb smudging the precum at your tip. “Goddamn,” he mutters, his voice rough with want. His other hand cups your balls, rolling them in his palm, his touch just shy of too much. “Heavy. Just how I like.”
His hands move lower, gripping your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he pulls you against him. You’re naked now, exposed, and his hands are everywhere—palming your ass, squeezing the flesh, his fingers tracing the dip of your spine. “Hair here,” he notes, his voice dropping to a growl as his fingers comb through the dark curls at the base of your cock, the trail leading down. “Not too much. Just enough.” His touch is possessive, his fingers tangling in it, tugging just enough to make you hiss. “Gonna be a mess when I’m done with you.”