God. That was no boy. I clapped a hand over my mouth, muffling my gasp as I drank in the glory that was a half-naked Father Magnus. Dressed in nothing but gray sweatpants, he stood beneath the window and stretched his arms overhead. The thin sweatpants hung low on his narrow hips, molding to the thick shape of his bulge and clinging precariously to the firm, round muscles of his backside. That ass was no joke. I silently willed the waistband to give up its hold and fall already. He clasped his hands behind his head and turned toward the sunrise, tilting his face heavenward as if soaking in the
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