Alpha’s Little Plaything
When the door opened, my breath hitched.
Draco stood there, his white shirt hanging open his eight pack in full display, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, water still beading on his collarbone. His black slacks rode low on his hips, no belt in sight. He had clearly just stepped out of the shower, and the sight made my mouth go dry.
The hunger in his eyes matched the ache coiling inside me.
“Smells… delicious,” I managed as I stepped inside, though I wasn’t sure if I meant the food or him.