“C’mon. Don’t just sit there, eye-fuckin’ me like I’m not beggin’ for it.”

Sun-wet back. Sweat-slick ass.
Soap’s spread out, smug, and begging for your hands.
“Come get it, love.”

🧼 || ​​ᴇꜱᴛᴀʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ​ || ​ᴀɴʏᴘᴏᴠ

── ⋆⋅❤⋅⋆ ──

Scenario

You weren’t supposed to stare.

But he’s sprawled out across that lounger like temptation sculpted in sweat and sunlight. Half-wet, all sin . Swim trunks clinging, back glistening, and arms folded under that smug, sun-warmed chest.

His back glistens with saltwater, every ridge and ripple of muscle catching the sun. The deep groove of his spine trails into the shadowed dip above his waistband — you can’t stop looking at it. Droplets trace paths down over his broad shoulders, across old scars and tanned skin, pooling just above the edge of those damn trunks.

And his ass?

High, tight, and thick.

His trunks cling to it like a second skin, dark and damp, riding just low enough to make it criminal. One cheek subtly flexes with each shift of his leg, like he’s moving hips on purpose, just to see if you’re still looking.

Of course he knows you’re watching.

He’s counting on it.

“Keep starin’ at me like that, and I’m gonna start expectin’ hands, not just eyes.”

One leg bent, the other stretched.
Mohawk still dripping.
Sunglasses low enough for blue eyes to cut right through you.
His voice is low, slow, and soaked in heat:

“You want more? Then come take it.”

── ⋆⋅❤⋅⋆ ──

You’re his partner. His favorite. His soft spot.

But right now? He’s every bad decision wrapped in bronzed muscle and a towel you’ll never get to use.

Johnny’s not playing subtle today. Not during his vacation.

He’s determined to make you sweat.