Halting at the doorway to calm my racing heart, I stop and stare at him. God really took his time with him. He's so f*****g hot — an absolute vision of masculinity; big hands, well-proportioned body, devilishly handsome facial features, sitting there in his suit like he owns the place, my laptop on his lap, and his gorgeous emerald-green eyes scanning the screen as he goes over my blog. Just being this close to him has my body on fire, and my mind shuffling through a host of filthy, filthy fantasies I'd give anything to have him act out with me.
Have him teach me passion. Every touch. Every word. Every taste.
As quietly as I can do as not to distract his reading, I tiptoe over to the couch, set his glass of water down in front of him, and plop down in place beside him again. He looks up
