Page 13 of Dragon Prince of New York

His hair is a little messy, like he just woke up and hasn’t showered yet. His back muscles gleam with a light layer of sweat like he just finished working out.

Effortlessly, he lifts the frying pan and flips an omelet with just a flick of his wrist. Why is that hot?

When he turns to plate it, I’m met with the full force of his beauty. Those golden swirls dip over his shoulders, down his firm pecs, dancing around hard abs, and dropping below the waistband of his sweatpants. Where do they stop? Do they go all the way down his legs?

His pants are thin and fitted enough that they leave little to the imagination. The bulge between his thighs is massive, drawing all my attention. And it moves. Twitching, stretching, growing right before my eyes, until he’s tenting the cotton.

My phone slips out of my hands and clatters to the floor, startling me enough to snap me out of my staring contest with his dick. Shit!

There’s no way to hide where I was just looking, and his smirk says he didn’t miss the way I was eyeballing him.

“Would you like a better view?” His smile is down right smug.

I draw back my shoulders and meet his gaze head on. There’s nothing to be ashamed of here. I’m a grown woman who appreciates sex and admires the outline of a remarkably colossal cock. Nothing wrong with that.

“Absolutely,” I reply without batting an eye. “You’d make a great model for my sculpting. Assuming you aren’t hiding some kind of deformity under those pants.”

His smile vanishes. “There’s nothing deformed about my cock.”

“Prove it.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Drop trou, pretty boy.”

He closes his eyes and scrubs his palm over his face. “I’m not going to show you my cock, Finley.”

“You’re the one who offered.”

“It was… a joke. In poor taste.”

“Fine.” I shrug one shoulder. “But I’m definitely thinking you’re deformed now. There goes your modeling career.”

“I’m not deformed,” he snarls as he steps closer.

“Then show me. It’s just a cock. I sketched nude models every week in my art classes. It’s not like I haven’t seen one before.”

He growls. Full on growls, through gritted teeth.

“Do you have a scar? Is that it? An STI?” I ask. “Is it covered in hair? Hm, actually that might not be a bad thing, though it wouldn’t look very appealing, and getting a girl to go down on you…”

In one smooth sequence of movements, he drops the omelet on the waiting plate, sets the pan back on the stove, and pushes his pants to his ankles. My eyes follow the movement for only a second before focusing on the real show.

I gasp when I catch sight of it. His cock is even bigger than I’d guessed from the outline. It’s long and thick and weeping pre-cum. But what shocks me is that his cock is tattooed! Those beautiful gold spirals swirl the hard length of him all the way to the tip.

“I need to paint you.” The words come out in a rush, replacing the ones I really want to say, what I really want to do.

“That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not? You’re fucking gorgeous! It’s a crime to hide that from the world.”

“You’re the only one I want to see me naked, Finley.”

I’m not sure how to take that, and I’m still trying to figure it out when he pulls his pants back up. A little whine slips pastmy lips.

"None of that." He tightens the drawstring at his waist. “If I stand here another second with you looking at me like that, I’ll do something I shouldn’t.”

“Like what?” I’m not sure when I moved closer, but we’re standing only a foot apart now. His back is against the counter, and I’m right in front of him. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him, or lick those tattoos on his chest like I want to, or sink to my knees and lavish that cock in the devotion it deserves.

“I’ll tell you everything I want to do to you… but not until your birthday.”

“That’s two weeks from now!”

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