Zerotolerancefilms
Bunny Colby, Derrick Pierce Pic(s)
The low hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the sleeping house, a steady thrum that seemed to sync with the frantic beat of my own heart as I watched him from the kitchen doorway. He stood by the sink, his broad back a solid silhouette agat the moonlit window, the worn cotton of his t-shirt stretched taut across the powerful expanse of his shoulders. A single bead of water traced a slow, deliberate path from the damp hair at his nape down the corded length of his neck, and I found myself holding my breath, mesmerized by its journey over sun-warmed skin. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of his clean sweat and the faint, sharp aroma of the whiskey he nursed in one large, capable hand. My gaze dropped to the way his fingers curled around the glass, the strength in them evident even in repose, and a forbidden heat began to uncoil deep within my belly. He shifted his weight with a quiet sigh, the denim of his jeans whispering agat itself, and the simple, masculine sound sent a shiver straight through me. I could almost feel the phantom weight of his calloused palm on my skin, a rough contrast to the sudden softness pooling between my thighs. Every rational thought screamed for me to turn away, to retreat to the safety of my room, but my feet remained rooted to the cool tile, my entire being focused on the unconscious grace of his stillness. In that suspended moment, the line between wrong and irresistible blurred into nothing, leaving only the raw, aching pull of a desire I could no longer deny.
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