“Flush it!”
His dick’s only so distracting when it comes to spiders.
But his chuckle—that sends a delicious shiver down my spine.
“Okay. He’s gone.”
He leans over, flicks something, and flushes the toilet.
“All safe now.”
I lift my gaze, but it snags on his chest.
My god, he’s built.
His slim waist with the man-V leads up to a broad chest and broader shoulders. Dark hair covers his pecs. His arms are a sculpted masterpiece, and I have the most intense desire to bite his biceps.
I have it bad.
I have itsobad.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Do not touch the man-god standing in your bathroom, Ziggy. Do not touch. Not yours. Don’t?—
“Better?” His voice is soft and gravelly.
And there’s more movement in his boxers.
Upward movement.
Why?
Why can’t we have this?
“Your foot?—”
“Boot’s got it.”
He doesn’t move to show me.
I keep gaping at him.
His body.
I want to touch.
I want to touch and lick and taste.
“You gonna be able to get out of that mess okay?”
That husky timbre to his voice sends a shiver down my spine. “I broke your bathroom.”
“You dislodged a flimsy curtain rod. I can fix it tomorrow.”
The water’s still running. Steam’s beginning to circle us. “I should turn that off.”
Don’t say it, Ziggy. Do it. Turn around. Turn the water off.
