Holy mother of—
That size of cock has no business existing outside of late-night streaming platforms.
It’s not a penis, it’s… a landmark. Something you could find on Google Maps. “Turn left at the enormous cock, you can’t miss it.”
I inhale sharply as my mind floods with fantasies. How he would feel. How my fingers wouldn’t quite meet around the thickness. The throb of want that hits me is so sharp I make an embarrassing whimper in the back of my throat.
I haven’t allowed myself to think about a man like this inyears.
He stretches, one arm reaching skyward, the other behind his head, and every muscle in his torso responds to the movement.
This is fucking criminal.
I bite my lip hard enough to sting. Just to check I’m still alive, still here, stillwatching Patrick, stark bollock naked, in his garden at six in the morning.
Morning light catches the water droplets clinging to his chest. He must’ve just showered—his hair’s still damp, darker than usual.
I zoom in, very professionally, telling myself this is purely investigative journalism—Iamfact-checking Jake’s claim about the missing toe, after all. And yes, there it is: right pinky toe, truncated.
But my traitorous eyes keep drifting north, up his thighs. I zoom in on the balls. I’m not proud. But they’re actually…impressive.These are Alpha Balls. Balls that havepresence. If these balls walked into a room, everyone would stand up, out of respect.
He walks toward what looks like a stone tub built into the patio. No steam rising from it. Of course he starts his day with an ice bath.
I watch, slack-jawed, as he lowers himself into the tub. One leg, then the other.
His whole body goes rigid as he sinks down. His eyes close, his head tips back, baring the length of his throat, and damn, he looks like he’s in the grip of something far more intimate than cold water therapy.
My desperate little pants fog the binoculars.
The sliding door to his cottage opens.
I suck in a gasp, hand clamping over my mouth.
A woman steps out, wearing… a black thong.Only.
Who is she? Local? Some cool Highland wellness coach? Did he fly her in? Is it casual? Serious?
The jealousy hits like a physical blow, sharp and vicious. Entirely uninvited.
It’s not like I don’t know Patrick could have anyone he wants. Rich, successful, devastatingly attractive men generally do. I just didn’t expect to witness it happeninglive.
Didn’t expect it to hit quite this… hard.
She’s beautiful. Obviously. Long blond hair that she shakes out like she’s in a shampoo advert. She’s toned and athletic. Her breasts defy gravity in a way that means excellent genetics.
My free hand presses against my own softer stomach, as if I can hide the parts that aren’t like her.
She’s probably mid-thirties, Patrick’s age. Even from here, she moves with that same confidence he has. Like she’s never stumbled over her own feet or stress-constipated herself for five days.
Basically: everything I’m not.
She leans over him, fingers sliding gently under his jaw in a gesture so intimate it makes my stomach lurch.
His eyes open—and the look on his face…
Oh, God.
It’s the kind of grin that erases every hard edge in him, making him look suddenly boyish. I didn’t even know his face could do that. He’s never smiled at me like that. He doesn’t smile at me, period.
