Albert paused for a moment, then immediately kicked off his shoes and, with a quick turn, abruptly toppled backward onto Hayes.
He hugged the big cat tightly, burying his face deep into the snow-white chest thick with long fur, and took a deep breath. "..."
Ah. He was dead. Killed by the scent of the kitty commander.
The fragrance of the body wash from earlier in the day still lingered on Hayes, clean and pleasant.
Unlike his back, limbs, and belly, which were patterned with dark rosettes, Hayes's underside was a pure, snow-like white.
The fur around his chest was especially dense and long, incredibly soft and fine to the touch—so addictive that Albert couldn't bear to let go.
Albert had to exert a great deal of self-control just to maintain the bare minimum of composure, forcing himself to pull his head out from the big cat's chest and trying hard not to do anything that would make him look like a complete pervert.
