Jericho
I crooned, pressing my palms flat onto his bare chest—it was only then I noted that he was shirtless.
My eyes traced the valley between his pectoral muscles, moving down to the hills and ripples of his carved and chiseled abdominal muscles, right up until the V lines which led further down south with a dark sprinkling of hair. I swallowed but my throat had run dry so it felt like ingesting grains of sand. And, when I looked more closely, I realized Jericho only had on a pair of Iron Man boxers.
A jovial smile crept onto my face even though my skin flushed from his utter lack of clothing, "Aren't you too old for these?"
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