Valentine gala. Son of a love goddess, so forced to attend. Private room. Our hero is a liar. He does not have a tattoo. He is dusted to appear like a greek statue and wears only a mask, loincloth, and a custom made condom with a unique pattern, fitted for a god and undectable as such.
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Cheia focused where the pattern began, below the head of his bobbing, grinning, drooling ‘oh so happy to see her’ dick. Touchmetouchmetouchme—pleasepleaseplease— damn woman.
Outlined in black, two dozen red stars glittered down each side. Dainty red hearts at his base formed the arrow tip, pointing at his balls.
Tension jittered through him, making him harder than the Statue of Liberty. Cu fell so deeply into the turquoise eyes peering up at him—he knew he’d never be the same again.
“Didn’t getting a tattoo like that hurt something terrible?” she asked.
“Yes. Hurts just talking about it. Kiss me to make it all better?”
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