"GRAAAAH!"
Bicep Guy's roar echoed through the air as he charged at Artis once again, his jaw broken from the earlier punch and his pants still stained with his sha.
But his pride as a man was hurting even more. There was no way he was going to just stand there with a boner like the rest of these pathetic cucks who called themselves his friends.
Not after watching this pretty-boy stranger grab Lily's tits like they belonged to him.
His eyes blazed with fury, a crazed look on his face as he barreled forward.
He could still see Lily's face, her mouth open and her eyes rolling back as Artis had squeezed her perfect, bouncy breasts.
The mory made his cock twitch again, and he gritted his teeth, hating himself for it.
'No. No more.'
He wasn't like these losers who'd just busted a nut in their pants from watching so other guy fondle her, even though he himself had cumd.
'No fucking way.'
He had pride, goddammit. He was a man. And he was going to prove it.
He could already imagine it—her soft, young body writhing beneath him, her voluptuous curves yielding to his touch as he claid her.
She was ant to be his, not so rich, pretty-boy's plaything.
He'd been dreaming of ruining her innocence, making her moan his na as he took her again and again.
He wanted to mark her, to own her, to see her crying and begging for more.
And the worst part? He knew that weakling Hajin wouldn't do a damn thing about it.
Hell, that spineless twig would probably just stand there and watch, maybe even offer them both drinks after they were done.
But he wasn't Hajin. He wasn't so pathetic coward who let other n touch his woman.
He was going to prove he was a real man. Right here. Right now.
His fists clenched, and he picked up speed, his eyes locked on Artis like a predator stalking its prey.
His muscles bulged, veins popping as he gathered all his rage, all his frustration, and charged with every ounce of strength he had left.
"Well, right on ti..."
Artis's grin was downright evil as he watched Bicep Guy charging at him like an angry bull who just saw red—or in this case, a pair of jiggling tits and ass cheeks that weren't his to grab.
His movents were slow and clumsy, every stomp making his stained pants sag a little more, threatening to expose his pathetic manhood once again.
"Watch out, Lily," Artis said with a smirk, giving her a playful wink. "This is why I needed your help. We're about to make them all accept homosexuality now."
Lily, still catching her breath and trying to make sense of the sinful tingles between her thighs, looked up in confusion.
She had a dazed, flushed expression, her hair tousled from his earlier groping.
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'Wait... was that why he was squeezing my boobs and grabbing my ass cheeks? To prove a point?'
She almost forgot why she was being groped.
She wasn't the only one. The poor guy with his dick out—who was still twitching like he was ready to shoot his load at any mont—stared in stunned silence, his jaw slack.
Even the rest of the drooling onlookers, who were desperately trying to hide their cum-stained pants, snapped out of their daze, their eyes glued to the spectacle.
Bicep Guy was barreling forward, muscles flexing and veins popping as he charged like a mindless beast.
His face was contorted in fury, but beneath all that rage was humiliation—and a rock-hard boner he was trying to ignore.
Artis didn't even flinch. In fact, he looked downright bored, arms crossed over his chest like this was just another Tuesday. Of course, that cocky smirk of his only made Bicep Guy angrier.
And anger makes a man stupid.
If he had any sense left in that thick skull of his, he would've rembered that Artis had just wiped the floor with him and his twenty goons without breaking a sweat.
But lust and rage were clouding his brain, making him forget all about the bruises, the broken jaw, and the shaful cum stain in his pants.
Spit flew from his open jaws, a string of drool trailing behind him like a pathetic banner of defeat.
His broken jaw hung open at an awkward angle, flapping uselessly as he charged, eyes wild with rage.
Dust was probably collecting in his mouth, but he didn't care. All he cared about was knocking that cocky bastard out cold.
Artis didn't even flinch. If anything, he looked... bored. His smirk was practically dripping with arrogance as he locked eyes with Bicep Guy.
Then, without saying a word, his gaze drifted downward.
Right to his own throbbing cock.
He made no effort to hide it either. It was straining against his pants, the outline so clear it looked like it was trying to punch its way out to freedom.
And to add insult to injury, Artis casually adjusted himself, giving his bulge a little squeeze like he was showing it off.
Bicep Guy's fury wavered, his eyes involuntarily following Artis's gaze. And then his jaw dropped another couple of centiters, which really shouldn't have been possible with how broken it already was.
'What the actual fuck?!'
Was that even legal? How could one man be swinging around an iron rod in his pants like that? It looked more like a weapon than a dick. If they were in a fight to the death, that thing would've won by itself.
And that was all the distraction Artis needed.
Just as Bicep Guy ca barreling forward, his brain short-circuiting over the monstrosity in Artis's pants, Artis sidestepped with the grace of a dancer.
It was so smooth, so effortless, he even had ti to roll his eyes before extending his leg out like he was stretching.
Bicep Guy's foot caught on Artis's leg, and for one glorious, gravity-defying mont, he was airborne.
Arms flailing, eyes bulging, his body seed to hang in mid-air, his pants sagging dangerously low to reveal a crack that nobody wanted to see.
Then he crashed. Face first.
"Graahh—Gawk!"
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