Just as I’m finishing up, watching for any smudges, I hear him. I hear his zip opening and my lipstick almost clatters down in the sink. I grab the edge of the counter; my breaths are too heavy, too fast. “Now, come here,” he commands. I look at him in the mirror. He’s sprawled on the toilet seat, his thighs spread wide. The space is so small and he’s so large that his one thigh touches the ceramic bathtub and the other, the tiled white wall. His jeans are open, hanging limply around his cut waist, while his t-shirt is shoved up, baring his lower stomach and that V. And he’s stroking his dick,
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