God.
My hand shakes a little and I ball up the piece of paper. Tossing it aside, I try again. The next time I look up, Mojo stands in front of me with his T-shirt pulled up over his large belly, his boxers hanging low on his hips. With his hand, he draws an imaginary line across his pubic mound—when he does, he tugs at the fabric of his boxers and for one breathless moment, the fly gapes open. “I’m thinking right about here, Can you curve it a bit? Like this?”
My gaze is glued to the front of his boxers. They tent slightly, but I don’t know if this is turning him on or if he just got hard when he took off the jeans. “Wray?” he prompts. He draws that line again and I stare into the shadowy gap in his fly, wishing I could make out his c**k and balls in the darkness. “Can you curve it?”
“S
