Tight waist.
Tattoos licking up one side of his ribs…
And an ass so tight you could bounce a quarter off it and watch it land on the moon.
He starts a slow, delicious turn.
And then I see his face.
My mouth falls open.
Oh. Shit.
It’s the guy from the airport.
The same guy now standing ten feet away, wearing nothing but panty-melting scruff and black boxer briefs.
Boxer briefs that are very clearly at full staff. And Lord help me, it might be the biggest one I’ve ever seen. I physically cannot look away.
It’s like he’s holding me at gunpoint.
With a rocket launcher.
He crosses his arms, totally unbothered. “Hello, Pix.”
Damn. His voice is low and rough and does unspeakable things to my lady parts.
“H-Hi,” I manage, still staring at his crotch.
I blink hard and finally drag my gaze up to his face.
He arches a brow, clearly enjoying the fact that I’ve short-circuited. “Do you need something?”
Do I ever.
His eyes dip to my dress and drag back up again, slow enough to fry every last brain cell. Then those piercing blue eyes settle on mine.
Waiting.
Expectant.
For an answer, Ava.
I swallow. “I… uh… was just looking for?—”
Your cock.
My dignity.
Literally any word that isn’t hi, Daddy.
Three sharp knocks pound on the door, shattering the moment. “I know you’re in there!”
My eyes fly wide. Shit.
And just like that, whatever spell we were under snaps and falls away.
I spin and lock the door just as the handle rattles. “Open up!” my idiot ex-fiancé barks, beating on it like a spoiled toddler denied a toy.
