It was well past seven in the evening when I finally made it into the room I shared with Clinton. He was standing in front of the mirror, wearing nothing more than a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. The muscles of his back flexed slightly as he moved, and the low light of the room highlighted every defined line of his body.I gulped down my saliva as my eyes trailed down the glittering hairs that stood firm from his belly button down to where the towel rested precariously on his hips. My hands itched to touch them, to twirl those fine strands around my fingers, but I hesitated, feeling a sudden rush of heat in my cheeks.Clinton turned slightly, catching my gaze in the mirror, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Caught you staring,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, sending shivers down my spine. I bit my lip, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and desire. “Can't help it,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet moved on their own, carrying me c
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