If my timing is right, I’ll keep shaving and observe you in the mirror. But just sensing you are scarcely inches behind me is enough to send my heart racing and bring me to the brink of doing something foolish, like leaning back to feel your chest, or turning around to let you see that I’m getting hard. I like when my heart races, when I start to forget things, when I cease to care and all I want is for you to reach over to me, and without warning rest your towel, rest the light stubble of your unshaved chin against my back and lock me in your arms, your cock tucked between my cheeks, staring
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