When we'd gotten all the food offloaded in the dining hall and placed on the buffet tables, I encouraged Quentin to stay there and get himself some food before the teeming horde of hungry nudists descended on the buffet. He got the hint and took it.
Back in my kitchen, Val helped me put the last of the trays onto a cart.
"Let me take the last cart," I said. "You'll want to get out of your clothes, I'm sure."
He opened his mouth, and by the look on his face, I knew he wanted to protest.
"Go on," I said. "I insist. This is a nudist resort, after all. You came here to enjoy yourself sans clothing. And I can manage to push one cart."
Val stared at me for a few seconds, then he whipped off his clothes. Stretching his entire body, he let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Much better."
I leaned against the island admiring the view. Damn, that man had a killer body—decorated with just enough tattoos to give him that bad boy look. I'd hosted plenty of athletic male guests, but Val made them all seem like couch potatoes with beer bellies. He was lean but well-muscled, with washboard abs and strong thighs. I let my gaze travel down his body, starting with his face, moving down to the corded muscles of his shoulders and arms and along the center line of his torso. His skin was smooth with only the barest hint of dark hairs. Near his hips, those hairs grew thicker and longer, tapering down to the most beautiful set of manly parts I'd ever seen.
Oh yeah, he was well-muscled and well-endowed. Spectacularly well-endowed.
His penis hung slack and soft but proved no less impressive for its lack of arousal. Veins rippled along its length, though the skin looked smooth otherwise. I imagined taking his thick girth in my hand, exploring his flesh, fondling his sac.
No more sex with guests, remember?
Val cleared his throat deliberately.
I tore my gaze away from his dick and intended to look him in the eye, but his impressive pecs and biceps distracted me. "Are you ready to go?"
"Yes, I'm ready."
He infused those words with enough innuendo that even a nun who lived in a remote Himalayan convent would've understood his meaning.
I couldn't resist glancing at his cock one last time.
"Let's go, then," I said, rolling the cart toward the door. "Can't let all those naked people starve."
He pulled the door open for me and smirked. "I'll be hungry even after lunch is served."
Once I'd wheeled the cart across the threshold, Val nudged me out of the way. "I don't think my nudity will contaminate the food when it's inside covered trays. Let me at least push the cart to the guest house door for you."
"I guess that would be okay."
While he steered the cart down the dirt path to the guest house, I granted myself permission to ogle him a bit more. His tattoos fascinated me. The black designs adorned the upper part of his chest as well as his right arm. The ones on his chest were abstract patterns, but the one on his arm represented a stylized dragon that curled around his biceps and spit black flames from its open mouth.
I let my attention wander to his ass and the way it flexed with his every step. With all those taut muscles, along with his easy sensuality and complete lack of shame, he definitely had the raw material to be a fantastic lover.
Not that I would sleep with him. Way too complicated.
We finished stocking up the buffet table while Quentin chomped on his food, watching us from a table in the back of the dining hall. He kept squinting at Val but avoided looking at me.
Just what I needed. A jealous ex-lover on the premises.
I hurried outside to ring the lunch bell. Literally. I had a big brass bell attached to the side of the guest house and rang it to alert my guests it was mealtime. A few straggled in from the direction of the hot spring, but most emerged from their rooms. I returned to the dining hall only to be waylaid by Ruth Norris.
"What a hunk," she said, nodding toward Val. "About time we got some real eye candy for the ladies."
Should a gray-haired woman with seven grandchildren be talking about eye candy? It seemed weird, but I'd gotten used to Ruth's un-grandma-like comments over the past few years.
I slipped my arm around her shoulders. "Don't tell Ollie that. He thinks he's our man candy of the month."
"That dear, sweet boy is fine looking. But he"—she rolled her eyes toward Val—"is prime, grade-A beefcake."
"Cool down, Ruth. Sylvester might hear you."