She was supposed to be skinny. A skinny Jasmin was therightthing to find beneath the layers of oversized T-shirts and thick sweaters and completely unflattering gym pants. So…where was all that skinniness?
He knew she did martial arts so in some weird way maybe it made sense. Yet not in a million years had he expected that this was the body she was hiding. He’d felt her breast yesterday and somehow seeing it in the flesh was better than what he’d imagined.Everythingwas better than he’d imagined.
His brother’s best friend, Danny, had always said that Max was last in line when God was handing out dimples because the poor guy only had one. For all these years, Kevin had taken that as the joke it was, but now for the first time the idea of some kind of procession line could actually be a reasonable explanation for what he was seeing. How else would Jasmin have a body like that?
Somewhere up there, working in the HOT-as-FUCK department, was an old man named Alfred. Maybe his name was Alfred, maybe not, but he was wise, precise, meticulous, and those were pretty much Alfred qualities (just like Batman’s assistant). Alfred wasn’t like the other guys who worked in his department. The rest of them carved out bodies of cheerleaders and salsa dancers in bulk. But Alfred was different. He took his time to create unique, one-of-a-kind masterpieces. He was probably responsible for Sofia Vergara, Beyoncé and Jennifer Lopez. That type of unconventional beauty could only be the work of Alfred, the same man who had somehow got his hands on Jasmin.
One day Alfred was searching the production line, looking for his next project and he saw this unshapen bag of meat. When he noticed what a great job the hair and eye department had done, he knew he was the only person who could finish this particular project. He carried this bag of meat back to his workstation and, with his little chisel and his little hammer, he began working. He carved out her delicate collarbone, the soft arches of her supple breasts that were the perfect size. They weren’t huge, but they were big enough to notice, perky enough to grab attention.
Her stomach was in sharp contrast, rock hard abs with four well-defined blocks stretching across her abdomen. Alfred shaped all her muscles with this meticulous proficiency, all the way from behind her calf to above her knee, using that tiny chisel to outline every part of her with skillful accuracy. Moving higher, he whittled the deep line on the side of her outer thigh.
Alfred started early that day, working late into the night with unparalleled dexterity. He didn’t take a lunch break. He didn’t even get up to go to the bathroom, because with that kind of attention to detail, there could have been no distractions. He chiseled and scraped and sculpted, but years of experience and an expert eye told him when it was enough. If he had gone on alittle longer, it would have lacked femininity, but Alfred stopped right before that point. The result was a dangerous combination of hard muscle and soft curves. And that should have been bad enough, but then Alfred, the bastard, did the unthinkable. He had tested this lazy finish before with J-Lo and Beyoncé and because it so obviously worked, he did it again. When he got to Jasmin’s ass, he stopped, packed up his tools, and clocked out.
Kevin knew this had happened because there at the top of those flawless thighs was a big, fat ass. For another man, that ass would be disproportionately too large for those narrow hips, but for Kevin too much ass was always just the right amount of ass. Round and thick and juicy. It was the kind of ass he imagined squeezing if he took her from the front. The kind of ass he imagined bouncing if he fucked her from behind. The kind of ass that left him with a hard-on in the middle of a hotel room because of imagining these things with a girl, who he’d adamantly decided—ten seconds ago—wasnothis type.
“Fuck you, Alfred!”
Kevin only realized he’d said it out loud when she spun around to face him. He immediately tugged down his sweater to hide his arousal and she quickly placed each hand on the opposite shoulder to cover herself. The gesture was pretty pointless, though. He’d seen more than enough. Her eyes were wide and her eyebrows cocked up, like her face was trying to tell him to either turn around or leave. But he did none of that. He just stared at her and she stared at him and he stared some more.
“Um…” she began awkwardly. “Who’s Alfred?”
“The guy who invented cold showers.”
She laughed, but he could tell she was still uneasy. And why wouldn’t she be? His eyes were still scanning her up and down, taking mental photographs to store in his memory bank. Click. Click. Click.
“Someone actually invented that?” she asked nervously.
“Yep,” he answered with a slow nod.
She squeezed her arms tighter around herself, another hint he didn’t take. He had every intention of doing to her exactly what she had done to him. She stared at him openly, shamelessly, without reservation, without respect for his personal space and he thought it would be rude to not return the favor, so he simply continued gawking. Click.
All she was doing now was pushing those supple tits even closer together. Click. His eyes were drawn to the tight line between her breasts, travelling over her forearms to the hard line down her stomach. Click. Moving lower to the V at her hips, like an arrow directing all his thoughts to one place. Click. It didn’t help that at the curve of her hipbone was the tattoo she’d told him about, a small, delicate flower which looked a lot like a Jasmine. Only half of it was exposed, the other half hidden beneath her low-cut panties and he was dying to see the rest of it. Click.
She looked around the room and cleared her throat as the awkward tension built in the room. Her lips pursed and she let out a weighted breath. “Just…um…just let me know when you’re ready to…I don’t know…give me some privacy…I guess.”
“Leaving right now.”
Yet still he stayed and still he stared, his dick straining harder against his jeans. Click. After a few more stilted moments and a few more clicks for the mental Jasmin Shrine, he felt like he was finally ready for that cold shower.
He slowly stepped away and walked into the bathroom, taking deep, slow breaths to calm himself. That body—which in no way resembled a twelve-year old boy—had been beneath him last night. If he knew then what he knew now, it was safe to say that they wouldn’t have spent the rest of the night watching movies. He didn’t need this.
Her Jasmin eyes and those perfect, succulent lips made her beautiful. Her inexperience and insecurities made her vulnerable. Her weird jokes and all her crazy made her likeable. But that body…that body made her fuckable. And once he stirred all that shit together, what he got was a gigantic bag of complications. It wasn’t going to blow over in a few days.
But right now, he couldn’t think about that. His dick was taking strain. All he could think about was what he wanted to do to her. He wanted to taste every part of her, feel those luscious ass cheeks in the palm of his hand, hear her moan as he slid inside her.
He took in another deep breath. What he needed right now was twenty…maybe thirty minutes…tohimself.
“Fuck you, Alfred!” he said, slamming the door shut.
*****
Jasmin switched off the hairdryer, then twisted her long hair into a neat braid. They were going hiking today, so she wasn’t going to leave it down, but she had decided to take heed of other words of wisdom Kevin had spoken yesterday. She wore cargo pants, but today she coupled it with a tight-fitting tank top, one she usually wore under her T-shirts. The V-neck wasn’t deep, though she still felt like it was too revealing. It was also too short and too tight to cover her ostrich-sized backside and that made her feel even more self-conscious.
She just needed to get used to it. Kevin was right: she should feel comfortable in her own skin. And after he’d seen her in nothing but her underwear this morning, any other attire was far less embarrassing. Now she understood what he’d meant in Vegas. There was no way she was ready to have a one-night stand. Being naked in front of a person was…tough, especiallywhen said person had the most penetrating gaze known to mankind.
She made a mental note to always change in the bathroom, even when she was alone, because she did not want to be under that type of scrutiny again. He just…stared at her, as if studying every flaw of her body. She knew she was oddly shaped and him gawking like that made her feel completely exposed.
When she first noticed him standing there, she’d thought she would drown in humiliation. But the longer he stared—which was a really long time—the more intense his blue eyes became. Watching him watch her had caused her to heat up, like a tiny volcano erupting in the pit of her stomach, the warmth of it extending right down to her thighs. She hadn’t just felt exposed, she’d felt somewhat…exhilarated. Yes, Kevin Shepard was doing strange things to her, inside and out.
