There’s this really handsome guy sitting in my living room. Lounged back in the chair, he’s sort of off-center, one leg swung over the arm and the other propped up on the ottoman. He’s wearing a really soft looking, gray, four button sweatshirt and Levi’s that hug his ass just right. My eyes are drawn to the curve of his ass nestled on the edge of the cushion. I wish I could touch it – start at the top near his back and run my hand over that curve, feeling the muscled firmness against my palm. Maybe keep going, down his thigh, traveling to the inside, up to that bulge that seems to be taunting me from across the room.
Brow furrowed, his attention is focused on the game he’s playing on the tv. Fingers swiftly moving over the white remote, pushing and gliding, his hands periodically shaking it with…
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