We just cuddled on my bed. His arm was my pillow, that of which was also playing with my sprawled hair. My hand was on his chest. We didn’t want an audience, so we moved to my room. Did I wonder why? Definitely. He must have some errands to do, so why was he here anyway?
Truth be told, I didn’t care. This made me happy and at the same time confused me. However, my mind refused to think about the situation, he was here with me, I could feel his presence, that was all that mattered for now. I could feel him warm and pleasant, his toned stomach, muscled chest— so firm but very cuddly, where I could lay my face the whole day. I would not even bother getting up.
So slowly and teasingly, my hand went south, to his midriff close to his object, which, I could say, became my favorite part. I felt
