He turned, following after at an easy pace, watching her crawling and stripping and generally worming her way into the best of fantasies. Christ, this was the sort of thing that got you hard just thinking about it, let alone seeing it play out in front of you.
He ditched his shirt along the way, tossing it off to the side as he came up to the couch. He had scars of his own under his shirt, to match the ones on his face, lines and pockmarks scattered haphazardly over a toned, pale chest. Supervillainy, as it turned out, did wonders for the abs. He'd considered selling it as some sort of a plan.