Did you touch yourself think of me, for the prompt thing pleae?
You stand in Wilford’s doorway, arms crossed as you lean up against the door frame, with a smug grin on your lips.
“Did you touch yourself thinking of me?” you ask, eyes darting down to Wilford’s hard cock, which he’s still stroking slowly.
His lips twitch up into a smile beneath his mustache and he throws his head back, a wanton moan escaping his throat. “Hmmmm... I wouldn’t have to think of you if you were here,” he smirks, eyes opening just enough to look at you through his lashes.
“Well, I’m here now,” you retort, stepping into his room and closing the door behind you.