Page 73 of Clap Back (Carter Brothers)

His eyes were molten chocolate.

His mouth was a thin line, and his jaw was clenched so hard that even through the light beard he had, I could see the muscles work.

But it was the way his abs were tensed, and his hand was fisted around his pulsing cock, that had my gaze enraptured.

He pumped hard, pulling the last dregs of his release from his body with harsh pumps of his hand over his engorged cock.

His big, never going to fit in my mouth no matter how much practicing I did, cock.

My eyes were wide as I stared at him, taking him in from head to mid-thigh.

My legs were spread wide, heels resting on the counter.

His eyes were closed now, his head drooping.

His chest was heaving.

His abs were fantastic and defined.

His forearms were spectacular.

His hands were to die for.

His cock was intimidating.

His balls were large and hung loosely.

But it was the tattoo on his chest, of a cupcake, that finally caught my gaze and held it.

“You have a cupcake tattooed on your chest,” I breathed.

His eyes slowly opened, and he stared into my eyes.

That lazy gaze swept down over my body, taking in the cum that was decorating my torso.

I wiped it free of my face with two fingers, then reached down and swiped it over my nipple, rubbing the thick liquid into my areola.

His eyes went even lazier, and I swear that his cock gave another pulse.

“When I was eighteen, and thought I was hot shit, I walked into a tattoo parlor on the day of my birthday and got it,” he said. “My friends were with me, and they laughed their ass off when I picked it off of a wall. I loved it, though, because it was so detailed. But maybe my eighteen-year-old self knew something I’m just now realizing.”

My lips tipped up.

He reached for my hand, and slowly tugged me off the counter.

I went to step down, but he caught me with one hand behind my ass, then directed me to wrap my legs around his waist.

I did, and he carried me straight to the bathroom.

Once there, he turned on the shower, and stepped inside only when it was heated completely.

We didn’t talk as he washed me clean of his release.

He didn’t say a word when he washed my hair with his shampoo and conditioner combo, either.

Not once did he say a single word while he was drying me off.

Nor did he say anything when he pulled me to his bed, not bothering with clothes for either one of us.

---