An arm sneaks under the bared milky thigh. Like a slithering snake, It glides against the soft skin.
Lashes of silver fluttered. There was a distinct hotness that grew below his stomach. The youth, Moulin was too vulnerable and comforted to resist it. Instead, his body welcomes it. He knows about this warm lingering touch, about whom these large hands belonged to. Even if he were asleep, his body knows.
Coolness caressed his skin. Which made a shiver climb up his spine. The shuddering sensation filled his insides. And Moulin moaned softly as he effortly tried to let sleep leave his body.
There was a voice. So deep, filled with gentleness. A hidden compelling desire, restrained by the chains of his will.
