Phei's patience snapped like a taut wire. He rose from the makeup chair in one fluid, powerful motion, his strong body towering over them. With a low, dangerous growl, he swept one arm across the table behind him in a single, hot, dominating arc. Brushes, palettes, mirrors, bottles of setting spray, and half-used lipsticks clattered to the floor in a chaotic crash — the sound sharp and satisfying, like the breaking of any remaining pretense.
The table cleared in a second, the surface now bare and waiting.
As Phei's arm had swept everything off in one brutal motion, the crash of makeup tools hitting the floor sending a dark thrill straight to his cock. He loved the sound; his blood burned hotter, cock already thick as he imagined what came next.
