The round head, the long shaft… It looks like I just made a hard cock.
If someone walked in, they’d think I’m making dildos in this studio.
I’m about to dip my thumbs into it, to open it up, but Ihesitate. I don’t know why… But it feels good to have this shape in my hands.
I glance up without thinking—and there it is.
The calendar.
It’s pinned to the wall near the kiln, curled slightly at the edges from the heat. Mr. April.
Mr. Hot Stuff.
I’ve had it open to that page since March.
I feel a pulsing heat between my legs as I look at him laughing, sexy as hell, imaging this hard, wet, spinning, meaty hunk of clay was him.
I tell myself it’s stupid. That it’s just a calendar. A fundraiser thing. A gimmick.
But my eyes linger anyway.
He’s smiling in the photo, dirt in his cupped palms, shirtless, rock hard muscle all blurry behind those big hands. There’s a tiny tomato seedling sprouting out of the dirt and the way he’s cradling it, protecting it, I don’t know, but it really does something to me.
I’ve never been into the whole ‘sexy fireman’ thing. Heck, I was guilted into buying the calendar by the nice librarian who really wanted to renovate the library. I didn’t even want it, but I put it up as a joke in January.
Well, I’m not laughing now. Mr. April has got me all turned around. Maybe I need to get out more. Visit the town. See actual men.
But I know that’s not it.
It’s not the abs or the fireman thing… It’s those hands…
The way he’s holding the fragile seedling so carefully. The genuine smile on his face. Those blue eyes. This is a man built for danger who’s choosing gentleness. The kind of man who could break things—but chooses to protect instead.
That contrast gets under my skin.
It feels intimate. Almost private. Like I’m seeing something I wasn’t meant to see.
For half a second, I imagine those hands on me instead. The thought flashes hot and fast.
I swallow and look back down at the wheel, heat curling low in my belly as the hard clay spins in my palms.
I stroke it up and down, imaging that beautiful smile turning into something else… Those kind blue eyes turning lustful… Those soft hands becoming dominant and demanding…
The song changes and I catch myself with a gasp.
It’s not a sexy song—Thunderby Imagine Dragons—and it yanks me out of my lustful daze and brings me back to reality.
I shake my head, refocus, and dig my thumbs into the clay, spreading the form wider, turning it into a bowl.
A big unsexy bowl.
But still… As I lean over and work the edge, I can feel his eyes on me. I can feel those warm feelings still swirling through me.
I should go switch the month so I can focus.
I shake my head as I pull on the clay, feeling the familiar movements under my fingertips.
I’m not the type to get distracted by a silly fireman calendar.
