I’d watched enough British sci-fi to know that “mad fit” was the American equivalent of hot.
I answered with a wry chuckle. “Obviously, you’remad fit. Like, in every sense of the word.”
Another devastating grin. But instead of taking off his gray t-shirt, he said, “Go on, then.”
I looked to both sides. “Go on, then, what?”
“Handle your regret,” he clarified. “Take me shirt off. Have yourself a proper gawp. And a feel-up, too, if you want.”
His offer felt like a challenge. And I took it…. Super tentatively. But still, taking off a stranger’s shirt in a hotel room felt brave. Especially for me.
Prior to this, I’d been more of the “wait covered up in bed until it was time to get it on” type.
So, I felt all sorts of wicked as I pulled Mick’s shirt up and over his head to reveal a torso even more aesthetic than what I’d been picturing when I felt the way his muscles rippled underneath my fingers as he took me against the window.
The gym must have been where he lived when he wasn’t at work. He was covered in lean, highly defined muscle and black tattoos.
My belly was soft and a little pooched after a day of travel and dinner. But Mick’s was hard, with lines upon lines of abs clearly etched into his long torso all around it.
I understood, then, why he’d invited me to have a feel along with my gawp. Polite Kayla was gone, and Greedy Kayla couldn’t keep herself from reaching out and running her fingers over his divinely muscled body.
His abs drew in with a sharp breath when I ran my hands down the sides of his torso—as if he was as affected by my touch and gaze as I was by his.
My stomach tightened with a weird mixture of surprise and pride when the patch of underwear beneath his still-unzipped jeans bulged with new life.
Was he getting hard again? Was that even possible after such a short time?
Wicked curiosity moved my fingers down the indented Y above his open waistband.
“A’right, enough of that now.” He grabbed my hands before I could find out the answer to those questions for myself. “This round, it’s all about you.”
With a surprise heft of his Greek god biceps, he tossed me backward onto the billowy white comforter and plush pillows.
The bed was so soft. It felt like landing on a cloud. Cloud nine, with a chorus of heavenly music.
But the man standing above me was no angel.
With a quick two-handed yank, he disposed of both my zebra sweatpants and my underwear before pushing off the rest of his own clothes to reveal a bottom half that matched exactly what was going on above. And then some.
I sat up on my forearms to stare openly at the long rod of flesh between his legs.
Yep, nice Kayla had definitely left the building.
Good God, was there even a single ounce of imperfection on this man?
His eyes stayed on my uncovered chest as he kicked the rest of his clothes to the side. He studied my breasts like they were a work of art, and to my surprise, he returned to full mast right before my eyes.
His new erection pointed in the direction of my womanhood. Like an erotic arrow.
The hungry look on his face made my body tingle with anticipation as he crawled toward me.
And I remembered with extreme clarity how it had felt to have him moving inside me, filling me up so thoroughly.
Yes…. I was more than ready to go again.
But this time, he seemed to be in no hurry.
Instead of kissing me, he leaned over and sucked one of my breasts into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the areola.
