Page 47 of The Challenger
“Wow,” I say. “This is incredible.”
Chavez draws me close, cups my face in his hands, and devastates my mouth with his. I bloom under his touch, knees weakening with every coax of his tongue. When he breaks our kiss, it's with a special smile just for me.
“Charlie had some food delivered if you’re hungry.”
I giggle, giddy from the booze. “I should probably eat, but food isn’t high on my list of priorities.”
“Speaking of lists,” he says, “that kiss was number one on mine. Thank you for everything.”
“Will you listen to me on the court from now on?” I tease.
“Whatever you want to say tonight, I’m all ears.”
I drape both arms across his shoulders and sway back and forth. He is so handsome, it’s a joke. And the heady perfume of gardenias rising up from the garden mingles with his singular scent, creating havoc in my brain. “It starts with you getting very naked.”
“Me?” He is not expecting that. “What about you?”
“How long do we have this place for?”
“How long is your list?”
“I’ll have to unfurl it to count every item. Could take a while. Not sure I want to waste time when I already know what’s number one on the list.”
His hands slide down my arms and I relish the silky feeling of my skin coming to life. “Talk to me,” he murmurs.
“I won’t be able to talk.”
He cocks a brow at my devious smile. “If that’s where we’re starting, round one is going to be over in five minutes.”
A laugh slips out. “Five?”
“It’s been a party of one in my room every night and I haven’t made it past that mark yet.”
“So you have been thinking of me.”
My hands rake across the defined muscles of his upper back and slide lower until my palms cup the tight orbs of his ass. He returns the favor, grabbing my butt and tilting his hips to meet mine. A small breathless sound escapes my lips. Every inch of him feels so familiar, yet unfamiliar.
“Not a whole lot of thinking going on if you want the truth," he mumbles, his erection knocking impatiently on my Venus door. “How does the lady feel about a pre-show? A bump and grind to get her in the mood?”
I pull back to meet his eyes. “Are you offering me a strip tease?”
“This never leaves your lips, but a certain Fresno kid once daydreamed about being in a boy band.”
“Shut up,” I say, trying not to laugh. “Mini Backstreet Boy?”
“It’s the truth,” he says, not at all embarrassed. “I have some serious moves.”
All week I’ve watched him dance on the court. Tease the crowds. He is a natural performer, and how perfect for him to offer a private show. I slip out of our embrace and sashay my way back inside.
“I’ll be over there in the front row,” I say, pointing at the bed. “I hope it’s the splash zone.”
I kick off my heels and sit on the end of the bed, letting my legs dangle. Chavez fiddles with his phone, scrolling for the tune of the hour. Behind him, the sky is a riot of colors against the ball of the sun dipping west. Satisfied with his musical selection, Chavez props the phone onto a chest of drawers and swings his arms around as if warming up to play. If he’s nervous at all, he hides it well.
“This one’s called‘Muy Tranquilo,’”he says.“Because you got me feeling anything but.”
I’m putting money down that this room has hosted a fair share of hijinks over the centuries but has never born witness to something like this. A sexy Latin-inspired shuffle brought to life by a man who owns every move. Fuck me. Full bloom, no shame, he camps it up, gliding like a skater in his sports socks across the hardwood, slowly easing his T-shirt higher to flaunt washboard abs. Chavez makes a living from understanding contact points, and his hips flare right and left, hitting the beats in absolute smutty harmony. With every indecent figure eight of his hips, it's impossible not to imagine him as a nine-year-old, slim as spaghetti, working it to YouTube cranking in his bedroom.
I cheer him on with a wolf whistle and he pops his shirt off, swinging it overhead like a playoff towel. He lets it fly high and laughs at how eagerly I snatch it out of the air. His belt is next, the leather whipping off his slim waist with a loudcrack.I’ve never joined the shrieking hordes at ladies' night—the appeal of gay men in firefighter uniforms is beyond me—and I never will with the Chavez show in nightly residence. Watching him peel off his clothes as if we have been together forever and not two weeks into knowing each other is a hundred times hotter.
