Page 68 of So This Is War
“Unpacking your bag for you. And I think I should get that sweatsuit into the wash. I saved a light load so I could add your travel clothes into the washer and dryer when you got home. Oh, and I ordered some dinner for you. Steak and potatoes. Not sure if that’s your meal of choice, but figured I’d give it a try. Should be here soon.”
I set his bag down on the bed and sit him next to it. “Do you want to get undressed so I can take those clothes?”
“In front of you?” he asks on a gulp.
I chuckle. “You can if you want, but if you’re shy about your body, you can change in the bathroom and hand me your sweatsuit.”
“I’m not shy, just . . . don’t want to be creepy is all.”
“Remember what I said, Levi.” I place my hand on his shoulder and lean into him. Our noses are mere inches from touching. “This is not your typical boss/assistant relationship. We are going to get intimate with each other.”
“We . . . we are?” he asks as I grip the hem of his sweatshirt and pull it up and over his head. To my surprise, he’s not wearing a shirt under it, and dear God in heaven . . .
Oh fuck me, he’s so hot.
Ughhh, look at his chest.
It’s so thick, so large. So broad. He’s a big man but packed with muscle. His pecs protrude off his chest, flat but muscular. His shoulders and arms are shapely, carved and rock hard like made from stone. And then he has a set of abs I really wasn’t expecting at all. They’re not nearly as defined as what I’ve seen on some of his other teammates, but this man is also a bruiser. He’s dense and built on protein and weight.
And of course because he’s a brawny, sexy man, there’s the lightest smattering of chest hair across his pecs that he keeps well trimmed. I’m far too tempted to drag my fingers over the stubble.
Looking away, I say, “Not that kind of intimate.” I try to laugh it off.Maybe this erotic torture will be harder than I thought.Especially with the ripped body this man’s working with. “Do you need me to take off your sweats too, or can you handle that? I can get on my knees and remove them for you.”
“No,” he says loudly. “I can, uh, I can do that.” But he doesn’t move.
“Well, are you going to remove them?”
“Yup.” He slowly nods but still doesn’t move.
“Okay, but do you realize you say you’re going to remove them, yet you haven’t removed them?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So see where I’m confused. Because if you need help, I have no problem taking your clothes off for you. I can slip my hands right under the waistline and?—”
“I got it,” he says quickly and then stands from the bed and pushes his sweats down, leaving him in his black boxer briefs.
He holds the sweats out to me, but my eyes land on the bulge between his legs, the very large bulge.
He’s half hard. He has to be.
If he’s not, then sleeping with him is going to be a no, thank you. If that’s flaccid Posey penis, then it’s not fitting in me, that’s for damn sure.
“I’m, uh . . . I’m sorry about . . .” He gestures toward his crotch.
“Why apologize?” I say with another wink. “It’s hot.” And as I turn away from him with sweats in hand, my legs quiver with yearning. I toss the sweats in the closet where the washer and dryer are and then open his bag to pull out his dirty laundry. “Did you happen to use any of the condoms I packed you?” I ask as he stands next to me. From the corner of my eye, I catch just how muscular his thighs are, and for some reason, it’s a huge turn-on for me. Like stick a watermelon between those thighs, and he’s cracking it open on one pulse.
“Uh, no,” he says.
“Oh, that’s sad. Couldn’t find a willing participant?” I ask.
“Didn’t look for one.”
“No?” I reply as I gather his dirty laundry and take it to the closet. “Why not?”
“Distracted,” he says from his bedroom, still just standing there. “Uh, you know, I think I might take a shower.”
“Good idea, get that plane off you.”
