Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
But again, before I can dwell on that, the fact that he’s being considerate because he knows he’s not alone in this house anymore, I reach my destination and clap my eyes on him after two whole weeks. He’s standing at the sink, facing away from me, but it doesn’t matter. Because as soon as I see him, every thought in my head comes to a screeching halt, like my body.
Because he’s naked.
As in, his chest is naked. As in, he’s not wearing a shirt. Why is he not wearing a shirt? More importantly though, is this real? The massive breadth of his shoulders—that I of course knew about and also held on to several times, but somehow, didn’t realize the impact of until I saw him shirtless—and those wing-like muscles on his back that twitch from his movements. That flutter as he raises his arm and throws his head back to drink from the water bottle he’s got in his hands. Now I know why they’re called shoulder blades. Because of how sharp they are, how lethal they look standing out in stark relief.
Or at least, his do.
As he lowers the bottle, I move my eyes and go down his spine and the tapering line of it, and realize his waist is as sleek as his shoulders are broad. And again, I should know this because I’ve seen him before. But I’ve never seen him without his shirt on, so I didn’t realize exactly how sleek.
And oh my God, stop everything. Are those two little dimples on his back? Just where the waistband of his gray sweatpants hangs low. They are, aren’t they? And well, no one can blame me for not breathing for a few seconds at the sight of those cutest little things, because I may have known about the broadness and the sleekness and whatnot, but I definitely did not know about his dimples. I definitely did not know that my throat would go dry as my mouth filled with saliva at the same time because I’d want to dip my tongue in them.
All of this before he at last turns around, and then I have to take a step back because now I’m bombarded with the sight of his chest. Which is, of course, as massive as his shoulders, and while his back had those wings, his chest has tight and arched planes with small, quarter-sized nipples. Which I can’t believe I’m thinking about licking like I wanted to lick his dimples, but I am.
And then I’m thinking about licking his six-pack abs.
Because he’s got it. A six-pack, I mean. Again, I knew about them, and I knew about them in more than a vague sort of way. Because every night for a little while back there, I felt them against my body while I danced in his lap. I felt them against my own soft belly. One night, I even came because he made me hump that muscled ladder of this stomach—God, don’t think about that—while I twisted my hips, but still, I didn’t know how… magnificent they actually are until I looked at them.
Or how I also want to dip my tongue in his tight belly button before going even lower than that. To that bulge in his gray sweatpants…
At which point I skitter my gaze up and finally look at his face. Which is beautiful, as always but is also tight and harsh as he stares back at me, his jaw clenched. His stance wide and his fingers clutched against the empty bottle. Probably angry, definitely annoyed.
“Hi,” I blurt out.
His jaw clenches harder, as if my voice, along with my presence, is also annoying to him.
I wring my hands in front of me. “So, uh, we’re all moved in.”
At this, a tic starts up in his jaw, which means I’m getting even more annoying by the second and should probably get away from him this instant.
“But of course, you already know that,” I say, before adding silently, since you knew not to come home until you thought I’d be safely in bed. Then, “So, uh, I just…” I shake my head, clenching my eyes shut for a second. “I’m sorry, but why don’t you have a shirt on?”
At this, he finally deigns to reply. “Because I went running before I got home.”
“Right, okay,” I accept, trying to keep my eyes away from his bare chest, but now it’s even harder because I finally realize he’s sweaty. I wonder why I didn’t notice this before. I mean, he’s glistening with it, his sweat. I notice a drop sliding down the side of his neck and dripping over his collarbone. I guess, I was just so taken with his bare body and all his wonderful muscles that I didn’t take stock of anything else.
“And because it’s always such a pleasure being ogled,” he says, sarcasm thick in his words.